


Unforgettable

by MrRiddle



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, NC-17
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 121,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrRiddle/pseuds/MrRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another story of many similar ones: instead of killing Harry on the fateful night of Halloween Voldemort kidnaps him and raises him as his ~heir. However, their relationship poses quite a challenge to the genius dark warlock. In this story children are accepted into Hogwarts at 12 and Harry was born in 1979.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter I. Happy endings. 

He stood, shivering under the harsh slaps of the cold rain that was particularly mean tonight, trying to wash away all the filth in the world it seemed, trying to make him bend down to the ground, submit to mother nature and inevitability of fate. Smiling viciously through his cluttering teeth he shook his head, as if there was no other option for the weather but to admit its defeat, and took another step towards the small house, rubbing the water away from his eyes. There was no time to waste, he needed to get rid of this small obstacle and carry on with his plans. 

The light, coming from the windows of the first floor, fell in squared orange spots dramatically contrast against the chalk black of the asphalt underneath his bare feet. He could see no movement inside, it seemed as if the life itself had stopped, frozen in anticipation of what was to come. Circling his fingers tightly around the thin, wooden body of his wand he confidently walked forward, speculating on whether he should try and cancel the wards or ignore them completely, for he had no intention of spending more than a few minutes here. He crossed the invisible barrier, hissing slightly at the unpleasant sensation of his skin being burned by the protective magic, and in a few quick strides reached the front door just in time to blow it off its hinges and throw it at the man who was running to stop him. 

James Potter fell back and hit his head on the step of the staircase, losing his wand and consciousness - he found it to be rather trite to kill a defenseless wizard, however, mercy seemed to be even more banal in this particular case. Pointing his wand at the pale face he sighed tiredly, "Avada Kedavra." The bright green light flashed, reflected by the glass of the spectacles that had fallen askew, and James Potter's chest rose for the last time. Having had stepped over his body he slowly went up the stairs, listening in to the deafening rumble of the thunder outside. 

He often wondered what was the meaning of life, when it could have been given to and taken so easily from a human being? What was there beside the elementary existence, what was the essence of the desire to live, that dictated so many of the deeds he had performed during his life? He could never define death, it was one of the few mysteries he had no solution for, one of the few phenomenons he had a very hard time of accepting, the only source of fear, the only fear he had ever experienced. Fear called for insecurity, insecurity led to uncertainty, which in turn resulted in weakness... Weakness was what needed to be controlled and extirpated eventually. Control was the key to survival, which was the foundation of life, however mundane the notion might have seemed. Control over the lives of others was what gave him the comfort that he needed, the comfort that was in fact a twisted kind of assurance that his own life could never be taken from him, could never be affected by another. 

Wasn't the power the meaning of his and everybody else's existence? Wasn't the power the fuel that made the world turn and change, develop and decay, improve and degrade in a vicious circle? Perhaps, the privilege to supervise this constant transformation was the meaning of his life? Perhaps, his power was what could break the usual order of it all and redesign it? Was he going to upset the already formed balance by taking one particular life tonight? The universe held many riddles for him to play and he exceeded at solving them, one by one, despite any possible limits, that were put on him by mother nature… but the matter of life and death had always been the corner stone for him and the reason of his never ending anxiety. Tonight, however, he felt peaceful. Tonight he was going to trick his fate once again.

Lily Potter's pale skin took an unhealthy greenish hue under the electric light of an old, muggle lamp; she looked like a ghost and only her tears and harshly trembling hands reminded him that she was indeed of flesh and blood. He impassively watched the glowing tip of her wand being pointed at him - she wasn't going to fire, she couldn't. Fear had gripped her heart in a vice, her ever sacrificing nature took its tall on her rationality, and all she was capable of was pathetic crying and pleading for her son's life. For the life he intended to take tonight. 

"Step aside, girl," he offered her reluctantly, "Step aside and you would not be harmed." 

"Please!" She kept shaking her head, begging him, shielding the child with her thin, fragile body. 

He saw how completely insane she looked at him, how the last echoes of sense and logic left her mind, bringing that particular dull, hollow expression into her once vibrating emerald eyes. How truly odd and boring the majority of people were, he mused, watching her. They always followed the very same predictable scenario over and over again, it was as ridiculous as it was horrifying. He had seen this look so many times, he had heard the very same words so often it all felt disgusting to him, left a sour aftertaste in his mouth, made his lips twist in disdain. 

"Avada Kedavra." He dropped his hand down and sighed, looking at her now motionless form, that lay at his feet; the witch's auburn hair tickled on his bare skin. "You never listen, do you?" 

Shaking his head he turned and moved towards the crib. Harry Potter sat on the cot inside it, watching him with wide, scared eyes, from which the fat tears ran slowly down his plump, rose cheeks. The boy was so small, looked defenseless and miserable - it was indeed hard to imagine that one day he could grow up into a man capable of defeating him. He drew his wand, pointing it at the child, whose lips trembled harshly but never let a whimper escape, and stopped again. He had never made a mistake before in his life - his long and fruitful reign was a concrete evidence of that. However, he knew that something hadn't been quite right lately, something rather unsettling found a place in his mind and kept nagging him from time to time, giving him migraines and terrible, incontrollable mood swings. Doubt. He never doubted his powers and decisions he made, he had never doubted himself for that matter, but there was an undeniable uncertainty he had been experiencing recently. 

He had never discovered the last part of the prophecy, that brought him so many sleepless nights and months of searching for Potters. Why had he decided that it was going to be the Potters' boy and not the Longbottoms'? Dumbledore could have easily fooled everyone by sending the wrong family into hiding. What were the last words of the prophecy, what was it that this boy was going to bring upon his authority in the future? Of what he was certain though, was the notion that right now, at this very moment, the child was harmless. Could he really rush into action without thoroughly considering all the possibilities and outcomes? He knew himself to be an impatient man and could foresee how dearly he would have to pay for his own weakness. Fear of death was his weakness, as was his mortality. 

"You live today, Harry Potter," he said quietly and bent down to take a closer look at the boy. A ball of pale flesh, a mop of black hair and a pair of bright, emerald eyes - nothing more, even the child's magical core hadn't developed yet. If Harry Potter posed a threat to him, it couldn't be determined earlier than in few more years if not a decade. "However, I cannot let you fall into the hands of my enemies, can I?" The boy was silent, scared, confused. Could he use his young age and undeveloped personality to his own advantage? Of course he could. Perhaps, taking another life didn't necessarily mean killing, but, perhaps, changing? 

Hiding his wand in his sleeve he reached out and carefully picked the child up, feeling how tensed the small body was under his touch. He had never held an infant before and suddenly came to a realization that he was acting very foolishly now, he hadn't even once considered taking the boy with him and now was faced with a problem of being completely incompetent in handling children. 

"I should follow my initial plan and just kill you," he muttered, frowning, however, his thoughts were interrupted by the distant sounds of Aurors apparating onto the lawn and shouting orders. He had no time to stay and make a choice. "Today is indeed your lucky day," he told Harry Potter and, pressing him close to his chest, disappeared from the nursery just a second before Severus Snape ran inside and stumbled at the threshold, staring wildly at the cold face of Lily Potter, that was forever frozen in an expression of grief and loss.

xxx

Rush actions always led to unpredictable, drastic consequences, it was the basic knowledge one had had since his birth, had gotten it along with the milk of his mother, or through the pain of others' unkind touch in his case. It was indeed careless of him to bring the boy to his manor - what was he going to do with him? Voldemort pushed his long, wet, tangled hair back and glared at Harry Potter, who sat on the chair before him, still watching him warily, with tears still staining his round face. 

"I need to get to the bottom of this," he growled lowly at the infant and turned away from him. He despised children as much as he despised the human kind in general, however, it wasn't the time to let his personal preferences affect the right decision that had to be made. "Wormtail!" he barked, seeing out of the corner of his eye that the boy jerked fearfully at the harsh sound and pressed himself hard into the back of the chair, as if trying to dissipate into it. Voldemort caught himself thinking that Potter was too quiet for his age. Perhaps, the infant was defected? 

"My lord!" Peter Pettigrew burst into the hall and prostrated himself at his master's feet. He hadn't noticed the child at first, but a weak cry of surprise escaped Harry's lips at the sight of one of his named uncles, and Peter looked up sharply only to scream in horror, "Master?! The boy! You spared him?!"

"If you are going to question my authority, there is only one answer you can get in return," Voldemort hissed at him scornfully and drew his wand.

"No, no! Master, I never doubt your wisdom!" Peter cringed, shaking his head vehemently, and kissed the wet hem of his robe and tried to lick on his bare feet, but Voldemort pushed him away.

"Enough! Take Bella and Lestranges, go to Longbottoms and bring me their child as well!" Crawling backwards and bowing Peter stumbled in the doorway, when he felt his master's heavy gaze. "And, Peter... Should you fail - prepare to die, slowly and painfully." 

Wormtail nodded awkwardly and disappeared with a loud squeak. 

"Pete," Harry called after him in a small voice, staring at the door - he was too young to understand what was going on, he had just learned to say his parents' and uncles' names, everything that had happened to him in the course of the last fifteen minutes felt like chaos. 

Too scared to cry, he could only whimper softly and look back at the tall, dangerous man, whose pale, oddly distorted face was hidden behind the curtain of thick, tangled, mellow brown hair. But the most unusual feature of the stern, cold stranger were his red eyes, that looked so intently, piercing through Harry's very soul it seemed. He was too young and undeveloped to understand it, of course, but the man's aura felt so dark and oppressing, that he instinctively knew that throwing a tantrum will not do him any good. 

Voldemort smirked cruelly at the boy, "I doubt you would want to associate yourself any more with a man who sold out your parents and you, dear Harry." Why was he talking to a barely eloquent ball of flesh, muscles and few brain cells? It was possible that horcruxes had taken their toll on him after all. 

Scowling at the thought he let out an irritated sigh: in his quest to conquer death he accepted no limits, no confinements, didn't care for his own well being as long as the result granted him immortality. But the notion that his own sanity could be the price for everything he had achieved so far truly disappointed him, unsettled. Voldemort pulled a ring out of his pocket - the one he had planned to turn into yet another horcrux of his after killing the Potter boy - one of the few heirlooms that were left of his family, that he had never known. 

Could he really make one of the Deathly Hollows into a vessel for his soul? It was doubtful that anybody could come searching for it, since most believed the Hollows to be a mere legend, he, however, knew that in the world of magic accidents and coincidences were very real, worse, inevitable. Twirling it in his fingers absentmindedly Voldemort lowered himself on his throne and slumped in it tiredly, while nobody could see his unbecoming posture. The ring was supposed to become his third and last horcrux, but once again he felt uncertain. At first, many years ago, he used to entertain the idea of splitting his soul into seven pieces, since the number was the most powerful one in the theory of arithmathy, however, after his second horcrux had dramatically undermined his health and maimed his body and mind, he came to a conclusion that he could not survive more than three splits. 

His first horcrux, that he had created at the tender age of sixteen, a journal, was kept in the secret library of Malfoy Manor; the second one - his mother's locket, inherited from Salazar Slytherin himself - was hidden in a cave amidst the sea, guarded by an army of the inferi; his third and last one was supposed to be kept here, right under his watchful eye, however... 

Shifting in his seat and crossing his legs, annoyed, he glared at the ring angrily. It wasn't wise to make all the three of them into inanimate objects, the less predictable, less obvious vessel he chose, the less chances there were that it would ever be discovered and destroyed. Squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose he threw his head back and sighed - the migraine was once again slowly building in his head. He needed to execute the ritual as soon as possible, while he could still feel the fracture that his soul had gone through.

The high pitched cry of a suddenly present Pettigrew snapped him out of his heavy thoughts and he sprang on his feet with the Killing Curse already at the tip of his tongue, only to see Wormtail rolling miserably on the floor, cradling his bleeding hand or what was left of it. The little boy finally started crying meekly at the sight of blood and obvious hurt of another and Voldemort had to silence him with a spell, as he massaged his temples and tried very hard to restrain himself form killing the idiot on the floor before him. 

"What. Is. This?" he hissed, taking a step towards Peter and towering over him, with his face twisted in disdain and rage. 

"Master, master!" Wormtail wailed, "Master, it's B-Black, he knows I am the one-one who betrayed P-p-potters, he went after me and took my ha-a-and!" He stretched out his maimed limb, pleading his master to help him.

"And why should it be my problem?" Voldemort sneered at him and kicked him in the ribs, "Useless rat! Where is the child?" 

"G-gone!" the man bellowed and cringed before him, "Ma-master, forgive me! We were trapped! Bella and others are c-c-captured by the Aurors! They killed the Longbottoms and their b-boy!" 

"Fuck!" Voldemort sputtered venomously, shaking in rage. The three Lestranges were his best fighters and most faithful followers, the ones he knew could never betray him, since they weren't very bright but addicted to violence and his power. They were going to be either executed or put in Azkaban, and none of these options suited him. "Are you certain the boy is dead?" He bent down sharply, grabbing on Wormtail's fat, sweaty face and staring into his watery blue eyes.

"Y-y-yes!" Peter cried and wailed again, when his master violently burst into his mind and extracted the most recent memories. 

Yes, the Longbottoms' scion was most certainly dead, being ripped to shreds by the powerful blasting spell, that Bella had managed to throw before her hands were bound and her wand was broken. Now there was only Harry Potter left and the mysterious last lines of the prophecy for him to deal with. "Get out of my sight, rat!" he snarled and pushed the other harshly away, straightening and rubbing his hand against his robe, wrinkling his crooked nose in disgust. 

Voldemort turned his back to his incompetent servant and tiredly walked back to his throne, curling his fingers in an attempt to control his wrath. He never heard Wormtail leave, he simply fell back into his seat and stared into the darkness of the hall, barely lit by the faintly burning torches. After a few minutes of concentrated work of bringing his emotions and thoughts into order in his mind he dropped his head into his hands and let out an exhausted groan, desperately wishing for rest. 

Quiet but annoying whimpering made him look up and hiss warningly at the crying boy, "If you don't shut your mouth this instant you would end up like the hand of that fat piece of shit!" 

The threat was understood and Harry immediately shut up, watching him with terrified eyes. At least somebody could follow his orders properly. Voldemort raised his upper lip in disgust and averted his gaze, biting on his long tongue in ire. Everything went completely wrong today, he had made so many unreasoned moves, had acted so uncharacteristically and was now facing even more problems than before. Tugging on his hair helplessly he turned the thought in his mind again and again: he needed to make his horcrux now, he couldn't waste time and strength anymore, his recovery was going to take a very long time and now was the perfect chance to lay low and wait calmly for the storm to pass. He needed to make a horcrux while he could...

His eyes moved onto the boy's small form again and he creased his brow in concentration and wonder. It wasn't heard of that a vessel could be another human being with a soul of their own, and yet his genuine curiosity and hunger for knowledge got the better of him. What was he going to lose, really? If it didn't work, his soul would simply reside in the ring, as he had initially planned, and the boy would die, as he was supposed to right from the beginning. But if it worked, then he would be able to have his horcrux right by his side all the time, hidden in the plain sight, guided and guarded by him... He suddenly felt excited with the prospect of performing an experiment, that was never even thought of. Smiling viciously to himself in agitation he slowly rose up and moved closer to the boy, who was crying again, sobbing softly and whimpering pitifully, like a wounded animal. 

"Harry, Harry, don't be afraid, this is not going to hurt," he murmured softly, tilting his head and watching him hungrily, itching in anticipation. How truly miraculous his powers were, how unpredictable and terrifyingly wonderful the magic was, that it gave him such rare, unique opportunities to test his own limits again and again. "I will simply put a little spell on you, dear," he crooned mockingly and pressed the tip of his wand against the boy's forehead. He stared into the big, bright, emerald eyes and laughed gleefully. "Crux-en-dehors!" 

Harry screamed in pain and fear, as a sound of an inhuman howl pierced the air, and after a flash of light blinded his vision, darkness fell around him suddenly. Something hot and wet was slowly flowing down his forehead and Harry rubbed on the burning and aching spot above his right brow, wailing loudly in hurting, disoriented and alone in the dark. 

Moaning and panting in pain, clawing on his aching chest Voldemort came to his senses and flattered his eyes open wide, gaping like a fish, trying to catch the air that seemed to have been taken out of his lungs. His blood pounded deafeningly in his ears and he could not hear or see anything around him, all he knew was that another piece of his soul had been taken from him. It worked, but with which vessel? Coughing and spitting blood, that left an unpleasant, copper flavour on his tongue, he rolled on his side and blindly felt for his wand that had fallen out of his hand under the sheer power of his spell. Perhaps, he had killed the brat after all? 

"Fuck," he groaned again and again, pressing his burning forehead against the cool stones of the floor and stretching his muscles in an attempt to lift his own body up. This was the last straw, he felt hollow and completely drained of his power - there could be no other horcrux, he was sure he would die in the process, should he try and repeat the ritual. He dragged himself up, moaning and swearing incomprehensibly, and searched for the small body. But as soon as his hands found plump, warm legs, the boy jerked away from him and he suddenly acknowledged that he was, in fact, hearing him cry.

"Are you alive, my boy?" Voldemort laughed hysterically, astonished, "Are you fucking alive?!" 

He moved closer and waved his hand weakly for the lights to turn on. Harry sat before him with a harsh wound on his face, bleeding and crying on the verge of his lungs. Wincing at the unbearable sounds Voldemort pulled on his form and grabbed on his small head, reaching for the source of his pain - it wasn't lethal, just a deep but otherwise insignificant injury, that was going to leave a simple scar behind. But he felt it, just like in his other horcruxes, he felt the weak but steady pull of his soul, hidden inside the infant. "Oh, Harry!" he cackled madly, "But you are my little Frankenstein monster, are you not?" He burst into bouts of deep, booming laughter, pulling the whining, struggling boy into his arms, and licked on his running blood, laughing all the while. 

Harry tried to turn away from him, but the persistent tongue kept licking on his wound and somehow its caress brought him comfort and soothed his pain. He stopped screaming and only cried softly, as it gradually subsided into dull, slight itching under his skin. He fisted his small hands into the scary man's robes, holding on tightly and sobbed, pouting his swollen lips and watching the other warily, offended and hurt. 

"Now, now, don't give me that look, you might get cursed for it," Voldemort chuckled coldly, savouring the flavour on his palette - the boy's blood tasted so sweet and surprisingly healing, it loosened the tight knot in his chest. 

Scowling, he pushed the boy away sharply, having had suddenly acknowledged that he was embracing him. The Dark Lord didn't hug, snog, didn't touch others - nobody deserved his touch. However, he mused, watching the infant stand up clumsily and whimper softly in perplexion, if he had made the child his horcrux, his most precious possession, then he most probably will have to learn to let him into his personal space. How else was he going to teach him and make him into a worthy wizard? Sighing in defeat he stood up as well and bent down to take Harry by the collar of his blooded nightshirt. 

"Fine, stop whining, Harry, I hate children so you will have to make an allowance for my temper," he muttered and dragged the boy after him, grumping in displeasure at the slow pace of Harry's awkward, uncertain steps. Though his own left much to be desired. "Haven't those useless parents of yours taught you to walk? You are two years old, for Salazar's sake, are you an imbecile?" 

Voldemort led him through the long, dark corridors and one floor up the old, creaky staircase, covered by the dusty, thinning carpet, glaring at Harry every time he stumbled or hindered. They turned and entered the left wing and stopped before the three heavy, dark wooden doors. Voldemort hummed to himself, pondering over where should he put the boy - he needed to be constantly supervised and the most reasonable choice was to put him next to his personal bedroom. 

"Here is your room," he growled and pushed the nearest door open, revealing a small but cosy space, filled with old furniture, that was covered in layers and layers of dirt and dust. Narrowing his eyes at the state of the place Voldemort clicked his tongue and waved his wand in a simple pattern, banishing the mess away. Now that a child was going to live here he had to find a house-elf to care for him - he had no intention of becoming a maid and a baby sitter even for the piece of his own soul. 

Pulling Harry up and placing him carelessly onto the bed, he walked around the room, inspecting the chests of drawers and a wardrobe, that were full of old-fashioned clothes, that used to belong to Tom Riddle Sr, whose nursery this bedroom turned out to be. "Well, go on then, sleep already," Voldemort scowled at the boy, turning away from the window, that looked over the hills and the roofs of the town of Little Hangleton. 

Harry stared at him in confusion, rubbing on his wet face with his small fists. He couldn't understand what did this scary man want from him, when was he going to see his parents again. He didn't want to sleep, but to go home. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" the man spat and pointed his wand at him and in a second Harry fell back and asleep.

xxx

Voldemort threw himself on his bed and groaned loudly, now that he was finally alone and wasn't going to be disturbed. Every cell of his body ached and itched and if he didn't know what exactly was happening to him he would have thought he was set on fire. Summoning the healing and restorative potions, that were being kept on the bedside table, he gulped them down, one by one, seething inside at the display of the strong tremor in his hands. Horcruxes weakened him so much he often wondered how were they going to ensure his immortality if he could be killed with a simple cutting curse in the state the ritual had left him in. 

However, the boy's blood had indeed helped him and he furrowed his brow, considering the reason behind its healing qualities, as he stared at the ceiling. He had made a decision which consequences were absolutely unpredictable, for, usually able to foresee almost everything, he was now lost and befuddled. Voldemort sighed and placed his hand over his burning forehead - he was running a fever again, though, unlike the last time, there were no seizures. And he wasn't completely drained of his powers, elementary magic was still available to him...

How was he going to cope with the child? His thoughts had once again returned to one Harry Potter, who was sleeping peacefully in the room next door. He, of course, couldn't let any of the Death Eaters know of the boy, since the knowledge could reach Dumbledore's ears and that was the opposite of what he wished. He would have to perform a fake execution for his followers, in order to assure them of his own greatness and invincibility in the face of the child, who was prophesied to defeat him, to assure them that nobody could rival him... 

But he had marked Harry Potter as his equal, had he not? The scar that was going to form on his forehead was going to be the fateful mark... Hadn't he placed the mysterious power into the child as well? Only time could show how exactly his soul was able to affect Harry's and his magic. Was the horcrux going to turn the boy into a dark wizard? Voldemort's carbon copy? Harry's tender age was rather advantageous, since he was capable of moulding him into the person he wished to have by his side, that is if the boy had any brain at all. It was hard to judge yet. 

He could very well take one of Lucius' elves to care for the child, he thought, as he slowly pulled the covers over his form, ignoring the unpleasant wetness of his robe and hair - he was going to sweat while going through the fever anyway. Harry would have to be kept hidden and confined to this wing, educated solely by him and nobody else... Since when had he started thinking of the brat as Harry? What a truly banal, mundane muggle name... Moaning Voldemort shifted to lie on his side and pushed his wand under the pillow, holding onto it tightly. In the morning he would plan everything very carefully, but right now he needed to help his body regenerate after being exhausted so horribly again. 

xxx

"I couldn't do anything, Albus, I couldn't save him," Severus whispered, hunching his shoulders and squeezing his eyes shut in resentment. 

"I doubt any of us could have done anything in your position, my boy," Dumbledore sighed gravely and reached out to pat the wizard on the shoulder, but halted and dropped his hands helplessly down instead. 

They sat in his office, watching the first rays of sun peek through the colourful pieces of the stained glass in the windows. The previous night, the night of the Halloween of 1981 was one of the worst that the Order of the Phoenix had ever had. They lost their four best members: James and Lily, Alice and Frank; they lost the poor, innocent Neville Longbottom; but most importantly they lost the child of the prophecy, the one who was supposed to bring the end to Voldemort's reign. This early morning Severus had brought them urgent news from the Death Eaters' meeting, that the Dark Lord had held just a few hours ago. Horrified they watched the potions master's memories in the pensieve, in which Voldemort had mercilessly killed Harry Potter right in front of all of his followers, laughing triumphantly and proclaiming his invincibility and greatness. 

"It is I who must be blamed for everything that happened," Dumbledore admitted quietly, turning to look at the few wizards and witches, who were silently mourning the great loss. Devastated he thought that he could almost feel the hope die slowly, as a heavy gloom suddenly descended upon the room, when the clouds had hidden the sun behind their dark grey thickness. "I should have taken them abroad and never let them have another Secret Keeper beside myself." He took off his glasses and stared at the frame unseeingly, feeling the unbearable weight pushing down on his shoulders, bending him down to the ground. 

"If only I knew, if only I haven't listened to that scum of a traitor, that cunning rat..." Sirius Black sprang up on his feet and started pacing the office, tugging on his tangled, dirty hair helplessly. He had spent the whole day and night searching for Peter Pettigrew after he had escaped him in the muggle London, but all of his efforts were for naught. "If only I..."

"Stop whining!" Severus suddenly snapped, glaring at the desperate Auror. "What is the point in what ifs now, when they are all dead and you were the one who was supposed to keep them save?!" 

"You are not the only one who lost someone dear last night, Snivellus!" Sirius snarled, moving sharply to hit him in the face, but the strong arms of others restrained him and he fell on his knees, suddenly weak and useless. "I know it's my fault, I should have never trusted Peter and let him take the responsibilities of the Secret Keeper..." 

Shaking his head sorrowfully Dumbledore helped him up, holding him gently by the shoulders. "I am afraid it wouldn't have changed anything, Sirius. Voldemort would have captured you and destroyed your mind with the help of Legilimency, extracting the necessary information out of you. Whatever you did it would have been in vain, believe me. I underestimated Voldemort once again and this is where my mistake has led us all."

"Poor, poor Harry," Minerva McGonagall sobbed into her handkerchief soundlessly, however, her shoulders shook so hard, that Kingsley Shacklebot had to squeeze them tightly to prevent the old witch from fainting.

"What are we going to do now?" he asked Dumbledore, who waved his wand to pour strong, herbal tea into their cups.

"We must go on as if nothing has happened," Albus said, lowering himself heavily into his armchair and watching Severus, who had once again drew back into his shell and looked distant and uncaring. "We have to keep fighting him. Now that we don't have Harry, there is no other option for us..."

"And what if we had him?" Everybody turned their heads at the sound of a soft, kind voice of Remus Lupin, who hadn't yet spoken one word since the beginning of their meeting. "What if we had Harry, how was he going to help us fight Voldemort, being just an ordinary, defenseless boy?" 

Hurt and grief could be heard in his words, thick tears ran down his hollow cheeks, but his amber eyes were hidden from everybody, for he sat with his head hung lowly, shamefully. He too blamed himself, Dumbledore thought bitterly. They all blamed themselves.

"We could have trained him, taught him what common wizards don't and can't know, given him skills to fight Death Eaters, I suppose," Shacklebot offered uncertainly and looked up at the headmaster. 

But Dumbledore averted his gaze, leaving the silent question unanswered. Of course it all was his fault, for he could have easily hidden Potters abroad, but the prophecy said Voldemort was going to mark Harry as his equal and after that was the boy supposed to defeat him. 

"You wanted the Dark Lord to find them, didn't you?" Severus sneered, twisting his face into a sour, ugly expression. "You wanted him to mark the Potters' boy specifically, not Longbottoms'. I see that now." He stood up sharply and strode to the door, but stopped at the threshold and turned around to throw one last glance at his master. "You are guilty of her death as much as the Dark Lord is, if not more. If it wasn't for your manipulations, he might have never even found them." His face was but a stony mask and his eyes were just as cold and hard. He curled his fingers and, having had hidden his trembling hands in the deep pockets of his teaching robe, quickly left. 

"Is it true? What he has just said?" Sirius also stood up, staring at the headmaster in confusion.

"The prophecy says Voldemort would mark the boy as his equal, which means that Harry would be able to defeat him... I thought that if I played on his paranoia and fear of death, that if I forced him onto Harry to at least make him mark the boy, it would weaken him, or even kill..." 

Dumbledore rubbed his old, wrinkled hands together, mourning his another great mistake. He used to think himself to be a wise man, an intelligent and a cunning man, but as the years went by, looking back, he couldn't completely agree with that notion anymore. 

"But it could also be Neville! He too came from a pureblooded, powerful family, that fought the Death Eaters numerous times, he was born just a day before Harry... How could you choose one of them, doom one of them for such a horrible fate?" Minerva gasped, placing her hand around her throat in fear and unease. 

"I never chose Harry, it was Voldemort who did it. When Severus had told him the first few lines that he knew, Voldemort started looking for Potters first. It was a sign, for prophecies are made about those whose destinies are united and no matter how powerful, how cunning a wizard is, he cannot fight the order of the magic. He chose involuntarily, following his heart's call, however impossible it might seem. We will never know what compelled him to choose Harry, but he did and that was when he sealed their fates." 

He wished he didn't have to tell them this and the whole prophecy - the less people knew of it, the better. Although now it was nullified...

"And you've decided to help him out?" Remus asked hoarsely, still not looking up at anybody. "How long have you known that Peter was a Death Eater? Even Severus didn't know..." 

"I never had any evidence, but I did have my suspicions," Dumbledore reluctantly admitted. 

"And what does this all mean?" Shacklebot creased his brow, perplexed. "Was the child of the prophecy supposed to die anyway? How could you know that?"

"I didn't but... " he sighed, rubbing on his eyes, "I know Voldemort better than anybody else, I am probably the only one who lives, bearing such great knowledge of him and his deeds. He is not called the greatest Dark Lord of the century for nothing, he surpasses even Gellert Grindelwalt, surpasses not only in power but in cunningness as well... I could not afford having any illusions. To kill a wizard like Voldemort one must die as well..." 

He looked at their sorrowful, wounded expressions and had nothing to offer them to lessen their pain. When one was aiming to save thousands, losing dozens was inevitable. That was what Gellert had once taught him. 

"Unlike Grindelwalt, he never rushed to overpower, to enslave everybody at once, he slowly but steadily improved his own skills and abilities, he studied the darkest arts of magic to make himself invincible, he always plotted, being two steps ahead of his enemies... You have all seen him in Severus' memory. You have seen what had he done to himself. His horrible, almost inhuman appearance is the result of the blackest, most dangerous magic, countless experiments he had performed in order to make himself immortal. His greatest and only weakness is his fear of death, however... Judging by the way he celebrated his victory, I have to conclude that he had probably achieved his goal after all..." He steepled his fingers in front of his face and closed his eyes in exhaustion. What he feared the most had happened despite his best efforts to stop it. "I doubt anybody will be able to survive a fight with him now." 

"Well, now there is simply nobody to fight him at all," Remus chuckled bitterly, summoning his cup of tea and sipping on it modestly. 

xxx

Voldemort woke up, feeling completely exhausted and battered, however, his magic was slowly coming back to him, he could feel it surging through his veins. It was a good sign, he could manage the physical pain easily, knowing that his powers hadn't left him. Slowly rising up on his unsteady, shaking legs, he tried to stretch his stiffened, aching muscles, groaning loudly in discomfort. He had run out of the healing potions, all that was left was a lonely vial of a Pepper-Up. Grimacing at the lack of any alternatives he corked the glass container open and drowned its foully smelling contains. It was better than nothing. 

As his mind cleared gradually he decided that he had to contact Lucius and Severus first, since he needed an elf from the former and new potions from the latter... He had forgotten about the child. Growling lowly in exasperation Voldemort stumbled out of his bedroom, holding onto his spinning head, and froze in the corridor when he took in the sight of Harry's door standing ajar. Hadn't he locked it yesterday? He could have forgotten, being in such a state. 

He looked inside, but the bed was empty. Scowling and feeling his anger getting the better of him he stormed out and down the wing, as fast as he could. He knew that Harry was somewhere close, he didn't have to worry that somebody could take him, but he knew he would have constant headaches from an infant that could very well kill himself accidentally and take his soul with him. Fuming he walked forward. However, he didn't have to search for long.

"Mama?" Harry slowly moved along the wall in the adjoining corridor, looking around in confusion and fear. Taking one uncertain step after another, he walked forward and called for his parents. "Papa?" 

"They are dead." He turned to the sound of a harsh, hoarse voice and jerked at the sight of the red eyed man standing at the corner, leaning onto the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked even scarier now in the faint daylight, with his sickeningly pale skin, distorted features and long, wild hair, sticking everywhere. "You are alone now, Harry." He couldn't help but sneer at the pout that appeared on the boy's face. 

"Mama?" Harry asked him in a small voice, clutching onto his green, blooded pajamas nervously.

"Dead. She will never ever come back." Somehow it felt particularly pleasant to deprive the child of his last hope. Now they were even, now they were, however ridiculous it sounded, equal. Both orphans, both alone and against the whole world. At the sight of the trembling lips and the tears welling up in the big, green eyes Voldemort snapped, "Stop whining! You are a wizard, not a petty muggle!" 

And it was when he felt it. The slight shift in the air around them, or in their auras, it was hard to decipher clearer, but as soon as he shouted Harry screamed in pain and grabbed on his head, rubbing hysterically on his scar, that started bleeding again.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise and curiosity Voldemort stepped closer and crouched before the boy, taking him by the tiny fists and pushing them apart to take a better look at his face. The scar, nicely shaped in a form of a lighting bolt, bled and pulsed very much like a cursed wound would. "Ah, you are affected by my emotions..." he guessed, nodding his head in satisfaction. He was excited to find out how far would his and Harry's connection stretch, for, certainly, wizards sharing one soul could not lead an ordinary existence. 

He reached out to touch the scar with his cold fingers and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down - just as he suspected, Harry calmed down as well, hiccuping quietly and whimpering softly at the subsiding pain. 

"How curious," Voldemort drawled, rubbing the blood off of the small forehead and licking it off of his fingers, "I will have to teach you Occlumency in the future, otherwise you will go insane sooner than I myself will," he chuckled, already feeling much better. 

Harry watched the scary man in confusion. He couldn't understand why was he hurting him and then soothing his pain all the time... He only wanted to see his parents again, but the man said they would not come back... Lost, overwhelmed with information and his own inability to digest it properly, Harry sobbed hysterically and threw himself at the only human being, who was next to him, seeking warmth and reassurance, shelter. 

Shocked Voldemort found his arms full of the small boy, who clung to him as if his life depended on it, crying meekly into his already ruined robe. Rolling his eyes in exasperation he carefully but firmly pushed Harry away. 

"Enough. I can't stand weak sops like you are, pull yourself together," he muttered and straightened himself, squeezing his eyes as the space around him started spinning maddeningly. "You must return to your room and wait for me there. As soon as I get a house-elf for you, you will find it easier to adjust to your new living arrangements." He once again pulled on the boy's collar and forced him to follow, ignoring Harry's weak, incomprehensible squeaks of protest. 

Placing him back on the bed Voldemort looked around and spelled all the doors shut, as well as the window and the empty hearth. It wouldn't do if the infant hurt himself - he was too weak yet to be able to heal him with magic and couldn't trust anybody else with the boy's health either.

"Wait for me here, I will be back soon and you will eat," he gritted out slowly, so that the little imbecile could understand him clearly. He raised his finger and pointed it at Harry sharply, making him jerk fearfully and stare at it as if it was a dangerous weapon, "And no crying!" 

Seeing that the boy had indeed gotten his warning Voldemort left the bedroom and locked the door behind him. Now that the child was isolated he could deal with everything else. 

"Luciussss!" he hissed, straining himself to will his magic obey him. Falling helplessly back onto his throne he barely managed to find his posture before a very pale and nervous Lucius Malfoy entered the hall and kneeled before him.

"My lord!" he couldn't help but gasp at the sight of an even more distorted, pale face of his master, that clearly showed how sick and weak the great wizard felt. However, his back was straight as always and his gaze was just as piercing, cold, hostile. Even sick he was still dangerous, though Lucius was smart enough to understand that none of them could really rival him in power and intelligence. It was safer to submit to him and his will.

"I am perfectly well, Lucius, if you are inquiring about my health. I would like to grace you with a privilege of knowing a great secret," Voldemort wriggled his thick eyebrows and smiled cruelly at the fair haired wizard at his feet, who watched him with admiration and bald curiosity. It was so easy to buy Malfoy's trust and loyalty, however, it was just as easy to lose them in a flick of his fingers. "I have achieved my goal and gained immortality." 

"Master! I never doubted your genius!" Lucius cried in excitement and fear, kissing the hem of his robe, that looked unkept, ruined. Had he been experimenting during the whole night? Did this man know rest at all? 

"Yes, I thought so. Now, you are to keep it a great secret between the two of us, you understand." At Malfoy's vehement nods of understanding and assurance he sighed in feigned boredom and added lightly, "There is another matter for us to discuss as well. I need a house-elf, the one that works in the household, cooks, cleans, the smartest and the most eloquent one. Since I am not going to buy one, obviously, I want you to spare one of yours." 

"Of course, my lord, it will be an honour to present you with one of my servants," Lucius bowed, wondering why had his master suddenly decided to obtain an elf, when he never needed it before? He always ate at the manors of his followers and, since he never used any rooms except a bedroom and a study, there was no necessity for cleaning. "There is one elf that would meet your criteria, I think. He is rather old, but, surprisingly, educated. He cared for me when I was a child, I trust him with everything personal and intimate." 

"Splendid. I need him now," Voldemort said simply and stared at Malfoy expectantly, satisfied with the outcome. He could very well trust such servant with Harry completely and don't even think about the boy.

"Y-yes, certainly, my lord," Lucius couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in surprise. It all was rather unexpected, but then again, who was the Dark Lord to ever fit the limits of the ordinary? "Daedalus!" he called and looked up at his master, who flickered his fingers to let the elf come through the wards.

A small, round creature appeared before them, its big ears shook slightly under their own size and weight on a small, withered head. The elf hastily fell on his knees at the sight of the famous red eyed warlock.

"Daedalus," Lucius addressed him, clearing his throat and taking on a business like tone. It wasn't hard to part with an elf, since he never really cared for him, but he still felt suspicious of the reasons behind his master's unusual order. "My lord wishes to obtain himself a house-elf and you are honoured to be chosen worthy of his ownership. I present you to the Dark Lord." 

Daedalus stared at Malfoy helplessly, but straightened his posture at the same time. He had no right to argue his master's wishes, if he was to be passed on into another family he was supposed to take it as an honour not an offense. However, he couldn't believe that lord Malfoy could disregard his honest service so easily, could forget about his own childhood that he had spent with Daedalus, under his protection and care. "Yes, master," he bowed lowly, touching the ground with the tip of his long nose. 

Lucius drew his wand and, pointing it at the elf, drawled the long incantation. He shivered when he felt the binds fall and the next moment he had no power over the creature anymore. "My lord," he pushed the elf slightly towards the Dark Lord and stepped aside, pondering over the information that he had received. Perhaps, the warlock's immortality had severely weakened him and in order to restore his health and power he wasn't going to leave his manor for a long period of time? What other reasons could he have for taking an elf in? 

"I bind you to my name and my blood and my soul," Voldemort said lowly and placed his hand on the top of the elf's head, watching impatiently, as the black and silver binds appeared out of the thin air and circled him and the small creature.

"I belong to you, master," Daedalus dutifully answered and let the darkest, oiliest, most unpleasant magic reach out for his core and possess it. He used to think his young master Lucius was the darkest wizard of all, but he had been clearly mistaken. 

"Now, Lucius, you are free to go. I will hold a meeting tonight, for all of the Death Eaters and followers, I have a very important announcement to make. It would be most convenient if you warned everybody, since I am busy with my work," he drawled, letting go of the elf and ignoring him for pretense's sake. How low had he fallen that he had to pretend in front of his own slaves, but alas, if this was the price of his immortality...

"Of course, master. Good day," Lucius bowed, struggling to keep his face as impassive as he could. His Lord must have been weakened beyond possible, if he couldn't summon everybody through the mark. Wary of showing his concerns he hastily left.

Daedalus patiently stood by the Dark Lord's side, careful not to look at him, watching the torches' flame dance instead, telling himself that from this day he had to forget everything that there was between him and the Malfoy family. "Daedalus," he heard a calm, quiet call and turned, kneeling before his new master obligingly. 

"Tell me, Daedalus, should I use my own bindings on you in order to prevent you from giving out any kind of information about me and your duties under my ownership?" Voldemort leaned forward and looked at the elf intently.

"No, master," Daedalus shook his head, slapping himself with his floppy ears, "I will never pass anything to anyone, even under torture I would never give up your secrets." 

"Hmm, this is rather satisfactory. Follow me then," he stood up and walked out of the hall and down the same route he led Harry yesterday, not once looking back, knowing very well that the elf would follow. 

They reached the nursery and Voldemort halted at the door, listening in - it was very quiet inside. Frowning he pushed the door handle and entered the room. Harry sat on the bed, just like he had left him. Snorting inwardly at the unexpected obedience he turned to Daedalus, "This is Harry, your young master, you will bond later when he grows up, I believe. But for now he is your only responsibility. You will care for him, clean, help him develop and cook for both him and me. We will only use these three rooms in the wing." 

"I understand, master," Daedalus said quietly, staring at the small boy, who was staring back at him. What a secret the Dark Lord had indeed! A child! 

"It is imperative that he always stays here, the Death Eaters can't know about him," Voldemort growled warningly. "Keep him safe, sated and healthy, nothing else is needed of you." 

"I will, master," Daedalus bowed. Perhaps, this wasn't such a bad alternative after all? Caring for the Dark Lord's child would be very much like caring for young master Lucius. "Master Harry," he smiled at the infant, coming closer and tentatively reaching out to touch him, "My name is Daedalus." 

Harry had never seen anything like this strange creature before. It didn't look dangerous and wasn't as scary as the red eyed man, who kept scowling at him, as if Harry had done something wrong. Hadn't he obediently waited in his room?

"Dadalus," he mumbled, and held out his small hand for the elf to hold. The creature's touch was gentle and warm and Harry smiled involuntarily for the first time ever since he came to this place.

Voldemort watched the small, but bright smile appear on the child's face and couldn't help but notice how much it changed Harry, making him look very handsome even for a little boy. Smile was a good sign, it meant he forgot about his parents and wasn't going to throw a tantrum any time soon. One problem was finally solved. 

"I leave him to you completely. Everything you need to buy for him is to be put under the name of Riddle." 

"Yes, master," Daedalus bowed. 

"Money is not an issue, however, I do not wish for the child to have toys and be a spoilt aristocrat. He must improve his intellect, for I have great plans for him in the future," Voldemort drawled over his shoulder and left, feeling strangely peaceful, as if a great weight had left his shoulders. 

"Are you hungry, master Harry?" Daedalus smiled at his little lord, who kept watching him with wide, astonished eyes. Harry nodded awkwardly and smiled some more when the elf squeaked happily and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "I will be back in no time!" he cried and disappeared with a loud pop, making Harry stare helplessly around. 

He looked under the covers, under the bed, he even crawled around and looked under the desk, but the elf was nowhere to be seen. But before he could start crying, left to his own devices again, he heard another pop and turned to see Daedalus with a tray in his small hands. 

The elf helped Harry up on the bed and pushed a tray towards him, sitting down opposite the boy. He put a spoon into the child's hand and took another one himself and started feeding Harry his very first porridge with berries and fruits. 

xxx

In the late evening of the same day Daedalus brought the biggest rabbit he could find in the village, just like his master had ordered him. Voldemort took the scared animal gently into his hands and sent the elf to put Harry to sleep. Daedalus returned into the hall just in time to see a hundred of Death Eaters stand in a circle around their master, who held Harry in his hands. Only the elf had just put the boy to sleep and this Harry didn't smell like human... Had the Dark Lord turned the rabbit into the boy? But what for? 

"Behold, everyone! The child of the prophecy, the one who is supposed to defeat me! Harry Potter!" Voldemort stretched his arms and raised the child high in the air, barely standing on his feet, feeling the blackness washing over his consciousness. If he hadn't drunk the potions, that Severus brought him just before the meeting, he would have definitely fainted. "He is no danger to me or to you!" he continued, watching their astonished, frightened expressions. 

Daedalus shook his head in bewilderment. Wasn't Harry Potter the one whose family the Dark Lord had killed so ruthlessly? He had heard Malfoys discussing the accident: the boy disappeared and the Death Eaters believed he had been taken by the Order. However, he had been here with the Dark Lord all this time and clearly wasn't going to be actually harmed. The behavior of the most dangerous and darkest wizard of the century remained a mystery to the old elf. 

"Tonight you will once again witness the evidence of my invincibility and greatness! If anybody doubts me - speak up!" But nobody dared, of course. Smiling viciously, Voldemort threw the child onto the floor and pointed his white yew wand at him, "Avada Kedavra!" 

His harsh voice rumbled through the deadly silent hall, echoing slightly in its darkest corners. The boy lay motionless before the wizards, he was dead. The thunder of applause was what Voldemort heard mere seconds later. His servants cheered him, agitated and, undoubtedly, frightened to death. The notion that the Dark Lord could beat even the Fate itself and overcome any obstacles on his way to his goals was both horrifying and elating. 

"Now, we should address much more significant matters," Voldemort said simply, gesturing for Daedalus to take the body away. As soon as the elf moved it out of the hall the corpse transformed back into the rabbit. "The matter of our comrades, who have been captured by the Aurors." 

The Dark Lord sank into his throne, trying hard to keep his back as straight as possible. Advanced transfiguration wasn't a difficult task for somebody as talented and powerful as he was, however, his condition suggested otherwise. An intricate spell took its tall on him and he grudgingly admitted that he could no longer use magic, not for a few more hours certainly - he had drained his core to its limit. 

Narcissa Malfoy suddenly stepped forward and fell on her knees before him, losing her ever impassive and bored attitude, crying and twisting her fingers in desperation. "My lord! I am begging you to save my sister! Bella will never survive Azkaban! I am begging you!" 

Watching her undignified posture, her fat, black tears streaming down her face along with her mascara, Voldemort wondered how far was she ready to go in order to save her already insane sister. What was the cold and seemingly heartless woman truly capable of? The corners of his mouth quivered ever so slightly as he tapped on his lips with one of his long, bony fingers, musing. 

"I wish to bring my most faithful and valuable follower back just as much as you wish to save your sister, my lovely Narcissa," he hissed softly, stretching his thin lips into an unkind smile, that he knew made shivers run down his servants' spines. "However, it is not the time yet. If we attack now, we would lose even more, for this is exactly what the Aurors and the Order are expecting from us, don't you agree?" At her uncertain nod he sighed and leaned forward slightly, to look her straight in the pale blue eyes, "Narcissa, Azkaban is a horrible place, one I would never leave my most loyal ones at for long. They are imprisoned, not Kissed, which means there is still hope for them and time for us to prepare. Don't make me repeat this again." 

"Yes, my lord," she mumbled through her trembling lips, as Lucius took her by the shoulders and steered her back into the circle, careful not to look at his master. 

He knew that it was just a question of seconds for the Dark Lord to trespass the wards of the prison and enslave the demenetors, kill the guards and save their comrades. It was the wizard's weakened state that stalled the process of freeing the Lestranges. This knowledge both benefited and threatened Lucius and there was only one thing he was absolutely certain about: he had to keep his mouth shut and go with the flow. 

"We will lay in wait and watch them reflect on everything that has recently happened," Voldemort addressed the crowd. "None of you would make any unnecessary moves, all those who are known to the public and are wanted by the Auror Division must hide and wait for my call, is that understood?" He saw the silent question in the many pairs of eyes, that gleamed ominously from behind their skull masks, however, nobody said a word. Satisfied he hummed to himself and waved his weak hand at them, "You are dismissed." 

Sighing he slid down in his seat and hunched his shoulders, enjoying the soothing silence and emptiness of the hall. However beneficial it seemed to have servants, he found that he grew to despise their presence and mere existence with time. It was indeed satisfying and fulfilling to hold their lives in his hands, to be able to overpower them just by being superior to them, but all the difficulties, that their servitude entailed, galled him and worsened his mood. He had always been a loner, ever since he could remember his own self, he had never needed anybody to help him. Followers were the means of doing the dirty job he thought unworthy of somebody as magnificent as he himself was... 

But did he really need them? They all were so unreliable, so stupid and pathetic in their hunger for his attention. None of them could be truly trusted, he knew, for should there an opportunity appear for them to save their own hides - they would surely sell him out the second the Order makes them an offer. Rubbing on his cold, sweaty forehead absentmindedly he thought back on the small boy, who was sleeping soundly in the room upstairs - if he did everything right he could very well raise one real servant for himself, somebody who would never betray him, would never even think of hurting him, simply because they shared a soul and a life together. Could he make the boy into a decent and worthy wizard? He could, of course he could. Harry Potter was very young yet, he could be easily influenced. His blood, though tainted by the mudblood mother of his, was just as ancient as Voldemort's, he was going to grow up very powerful indeed. 

Of course, raising a child was something he knew next to nothing about, it was going to be the hardest of the experiments he had ever performed, Voldemort mused as he slowly ascended the stairs, holding on tightly to the rails to prevent himself from falling. He had never felt so weak in his life before, were any of his Death Eaters a little more perceptive or a little braver they could have easily finished him now. But, alas, the sheep always followed the wolf in a desperate hope that they would not be eaten. Smiling bitterly at the thought he shuffled his feet in the direction of his bedroom, however, when he passed by Harry's door he stopped and after a few seconds of consideration entered soundlessly. 

A narrow strip of light from the corridor fell onto the bed and the boy's small form, coiled protectively under the thick covers. Voldemort watched his plump, lovely face and wondered how many years and how much strength and patience would it take him to make this little piece of meat into a man he could keep by his side and live forever, knowing no fear anymore. He knew he made the right decision, he knew it now, yes, there were no doubts for him to seethe over - keeping the child of the prophecy alive and secretly hidden from everyone was going to benefit him more than anything. Harry was his ace in his sleeve. The lightning bolt scar, still reddened slightly, was what his gaze stopped at and Voldemort smiled to himself at the sight - he was following the bloody prophecy for now, but even if its other part predicted his downfall it could have been already nullified in his opinion. He was going to make Harry blindly faithful, make him his, he was going to possess the boy's soul by simply turning him into his loyal slave. 

xxx

A few months passed by very quickly. It was already the beginning of the spring, the snow started melting, the birds began singing, and the first wild flowers showed themselves, standing out starkly against the dark, muddy soil, that surrounded the manor. Voldemort rarely communicated with Harry, ignoring him most of the time and simply watching the boy sleep. Every night he visited the nursery and stood by the bed, staring at the small face, that was slowly but steadily changing. Harry was growing fast. The elf took very good care of him, it was obvious. His cheeks were always flushed with healthy pink hue, his eyes always shone brightly and rather artfully. Harry turned out to be a quiet, but a very mischievous, playful boy. As time went by he remembered his parents less and less, rarely throwing tantrums and asking to be taken home. Voldemort had to grudgingly admit that he hadn't heard him cry ever since Daedalus started looking after him. Harry learned more words, walked very well and fast and was even allowed to go outside in the early mornings when no Death Eaters could accidentally see him. 

He stood by the window of his study, watching the boy pick a few flowers up and throw them around himself, crying excitedly. So far Harry proved to be an ordinary child, obedient, calm, but ordinary. Either his soul was still dormant in him, or wasn't going to affect him at all, Voldemort couldn't know. Of course he understood that there was no other way but to wait and see, but he hated waiting, his patience was already wearing thin. Everything was possible, Harry could have very well grown up a squib, with all of his magic concentrated on preserving the foreign soul inside of him. Nobody could predict what would happen. 

And there still was the matter of the prophecy to be addressed. He needed to steal it from the Ministry, but couldn't ask anybody else for help, for it would certainly arise the unwanted questions. Massaging his temples and scowling at the happily grinning boy Voldemort sighed in exasperation to himself. There were so many obstacles and problems to be faced soon, too many to count, too many for his liking. The boy's education was one of them. He couldn't afford to have a tutor, since, even with oaths or constant obliviating spells, the risk of somebody finding out about the child was too high - therefore he had to do it all by himself. He didn't mind to teach the Hogwarts course and was actually anticipating to help Harry learn everything about magic there was, however, teaching the basic, mundane skills like proper talking, reading and writing, math and etiquette was beyond him. 

"If you want a thing done well - do it yourself," he muttered acidly to his own reflection in the glass and turned away from the window. He had learned it all by himself, nobody was there to guide him in his childhood, however, the circumstances were different then. He had been surviving in a harsh, hostile environment, while Harry lived under his protection and elf's care and wasn't going to ever find out what it is like to starve or freeze to death, to be beaten and insulted, shunned for being different. None of the ugliest, foulest nightmares were going to happen to him. 

Voldemort walked over to his desk and sat down, resting his elbows on the layered map of the Ministry's levels, however, all the lines looked blurry to him, since his gaze was unfocused. He thought of Harry. On one hand he could very well force the boy into the very same horrid kind of life he had had, to motivate him to learn and develop on his own. But on the other... he felt reluctant to torture Harry so terribly. His soul had suffered enough, it wasn't fair to doom it to go through it all again, he mused. Leaning back in his chair he twirled a long lock of his hair between his fingers absentmindedly, pondering over his own feelings towards the boy. 

No, he didn't want him to have an unhappy childhood, he didn't want him bitter and broken, he wanted Harry to grow up a confident, strong willed man, the one who would not fear his master, but respect and admire him. He didn't want a sycophant obligingly licking on his feet out of fear or spite, or gain, he wanted... A friend. He had never had any friends before and could very well survive without them, but he knew how much beneficial it could have been to make Harry believe that they were more than just a master and a servant, but that they were a family. Rubbing on his eyes and sighing heavily he once again bent over the plan. He didn't know how to be friendly, how to make friends - he would have to find out by trials and errors. 

A ringing laughter echoed distantly in the hall, signifying that Harry had returned home. Home. This wretched place had become a home to them both, hiding them from the whole world. Laying low and rarely gathering his followers Voldemort had grown used to the quiet life away from the annoying wizards and witches and their problems. If it wasn't for Dumbledore's obsession with muggles and his desire to assimilate with them he doubted he would have ever started the war at all. It would have been most satisfying and delightful to reign over Britain, however, and he could honestly admit this to himself, it would have been most difficult and exhausting as well. Pointless. Time consuming. Unrewarding. 

He couldn't kill all the muggles in the world, the mere idea seemed ridiculous, therefore he had to seclude the magic from them. But it wasn't only Britain that needed to be showed the right way, but every other country as well. It wasn't just Dumbledore he needed to eliminate but all the blind muggle-loving idiots, that propagated eternal peace and love between the two species. Wizards were, undoubtedly, superior to muggles, but the task of proving it to everybody else seemed almost impossible. 

Voldemort listened in to the low noise of Harry playing around in his room and to Daedalus' chiding tone, in which the elf tried to make the boy sit down and have his lunch. He had entertained the idea of spelling his bedroom soundproof at first, but thought better of it - if something was going to happen to the child in the course of his maturing and developing he had to know about it instantly. And now, as some time had passed, he found he didn't mind the foreign sounds, they had in fact brought some illusion of life and odd comfort into this place, made it more suitable for living. Having had spent most of his long life in loneliness Voldemort realized that the boy's company was very bearable indeed. He wondered if it was going to become even enjoyable, eventually, when Harry grew up. 

The door into his study opened, creaking softly, and a small face appeared in the narrow gap, watching him curiously. 

"What?" he narrowed his red eyes at the boy and the door was instantly closed and only the quick steps of bare feet in the direction of the next room could be heard. It seemed that Harry was still afraid of him. Raising his eyebrows sarcastically Voldemort concentrated on the map. First things first.

xxx

"Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..." he murmured, scowling at the shiny glass orb, that lay innocently in his hand. "This is a rather twisted logic, since we share a soul..." Voldemort rubbed on his furrowed brow with his long fingers, scratching on the skin with long, bluish fingernails. "He was never meant to become a horcrux, I would have died that night and he would have lived, marked by me," he nodded his head slowly as he pondered over what else could these words mean. "By the time I resurrected from one of my horcruxes he would have been a grown man, a powerful wizard, trained by Dumbledore and his dogs... And now it is truly nullified." 

The orb was thrown into the hearth and was instantly consumed by the flame, which roar deafened the voice of the Seer, that could be barely deciphered. He had changed their destiny by having had made that one decision that night to let Harry live and to raise him as his own. Rubbing his cold hands together Voldemort walked out of the study and into the nursery to watch the boy sleep, as he had been doing all this time. Now that he knew that he did everything right he felt a great relief washing over him in waves. 

Sitting down on the edge of the mattress he looked into the small, funny face, that was turned towards the window, almost white under the cold moonlight. He was safe now, safe and invincible. Should he be killed in the future Harry would resurrect him and protect him. Voldemort tentatively reached out and covered the tiny hand with his own, sighing at its softness and warmth. Harry sighed too, no doubt sharing his emotions through their link, and snored quietly - he was so small, so fragile, it was hard to imagine that the two magical souls could reside inside him at once, that one day he would be just as mature and strong as his master was.

The Dark Lord let go of the boy and slowly rose up to leave. Now that the most important problem had been solved and he and Harry could live peacefully together, he had to come up with a plan to rescue his imprisoned servants. The more he thought of it the less the idea appealed to him, but leaving them to rot in Azkaban was going to undermine his authority and his follower's trust. Breaking into the Ministry wasn't as difficult as he had anticipated, none of the few night guards noticed him walking through the shadows, there were no wards or alarms around the prophecy and it was so easy to put a fake, empty orb in place of the real one that he had, at some point, suspected it all to be a trap. However, nothing happened, he walked out just as quickly and unseen as he walked in. Now that everybody believed that Harry Potter was dead it was highly unlikely that somebody, meaning Dumbledore, would casually pay a visit to the prophecy that had no use anymore. 

Breaking into the prison was a completely different matter altogether. He could very well storm inside and turn the place to dust, but it wasn't worth wasting his power and energy so carelessly. Perhaps, if Narcissa wanted her sister to be saved so much, she and her husband could accompany him in his trip to the Azkaban isle. Satisfied with the plan he halted at the threshold and turned his head to look at the boy again - Harry's sleep was deep and sweet, undisturbed. Smiling to himself Voldemort closed the door behind him soundlessly and went into his own bedroom, thinking that he too needed a good and sweet sleep in order to gain strength for tomorrow's mission. The less predictable his actions were even to his own followers, the less there were chances to fail. 

He lay awake for a long time, however, mesmerized by the light of the moon that creeped stealthily into the room and over the covers of his bed. After splitting his soul into so many pieces he noticed that sometimes his emotions and impressions were somewhat dulled, subdued, distorted even. Some had disappeared altogether. He dreaded to imagine what would it have been like if he had followed his initial plan and made seven horcruxes - he would have become completely insane, he was absolutely certain of that. Intelligent and naturally perceptive Voldemort understood that he had been born a little abnormal, for his job and his powers called for a particular set of mind and psyche, therefore he knew there was a possibility to lose his sense and reason rather easily indeed. He couldn't afford that, everything had to be under control, especially now, when he had tricked everybody and the Fate itself so smartly. Three horcruxes was more than enough. 

He stretched his hand out and watched the light play on his already pale skin, turning it sickeningly grey, dead. Irritation and disinterest were the major emotions he had been experiencing lately, boredom. The only time he felt somewhat curious was when he thought of the boy and their shared future - it was a game he was very interested to play. How pleasant and fruitful would it be to raise the supposed Savior and make him see the actual truth, make him hate everything his parents and the Order fought for? A cruel smile stretched his thin, dry lips and he laughed soundlessly as he waved his hand and the black darkness fell over the Little Hangleton, as the moon stayed trapped between the sheets of glass in his window until the morning came. 

xxx

"How could he have never revealed any of his plans in the meetings?" Shacklebot threw his arms in the air helplessly, staring at the dark form of Severus Snape, who stood by the window in the kitchen of Grimmauld's place and watched impassively the drops of rain run down the foggy glass. 

"As you have undoubtedly noticed there were barely any meetings during these last six and a half months," the potions master sighed tiredly, not turning to look at the members of the Order, who were boring their eyes in the back of his head. "I have no idea what is the cause of the Dark Lord's sudden change, perhaps, he is waiting for the right time to strike again... It is difficult to base my assumptions on the lack of any kind of information whatsoever. Nobody knows anything, even Malfoy." 

"Has he required any more potions from you, does he look sick or weak still?" Dumbledore asked thoughtfully, frowning at the photograph of the ten dead Aurors, that took most of the front page of the Daily Prophet. The huge letters of the headline screamed soundlessly at him 'HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED BREAKS INTO AZKABAN'. 

"No, he never asked for any of the potions ever again. I believe he brews everything by himself now," Severus shook his head and finally looked back at the Headmaster. "He has taken a house-elf in, ordered Malfoy to spare one of his own. What for he never said, however, everybody noticed that he stopped socializing. He used to dine with some of us from time to time, paying unexpected visits, examining the manors, watching the way his most trusted followers live, meeting their families. He doesn't do this anymore, stays in his own house isolated from the whole world." 

"His paranoia has probably worsened," Dumbledore suggested, folding his hands and resting them on the table before him. "Of course he needs a house-elf now to take care of his basic needs. And there is no way to know what is he plotting?" 

"None," the potions master said gravely and lowered himself onto the wooden chair, that stood aside from everybody else present. "It seems as if he doesn't trust any of us anymore, as if he... As if he is bored with the whole idea of having us as his followers," he shrugged his shoulders irritably, confused by the notion. "He hadn't even asked of your plans the last time we met. Barely talked to me at all." 

"Is he suspecting you?" Shacklebot leaned forward, looking at the dark wizard intently.

Severus shook his head negatively and pushed his tangled, oily hair back, sighing again. "When the Dark Lord suspects he tortures you and kills you just to be sure that he hasn't missed anything. As far as I understand he is simply not interested anymore." 

"This can mean only one thing," the headmaster nodded his head sadly, twisting his lips in sorrow and exhaustion, "That he has become immortal as he had been planning to all these years. And now that he is not afraid of death he has all the time in the world to plot and execute his plans just when it is most beneficial for him." 

A long silence fell after his words and everybody stared helplessly at the newspapers scattered all over the table before them. It was Moody whose voice suddenly broke the tension, "Hasn't that old fly Trelawney made up another prophecy yet? Would have been very convenient." 

"Alastor, you know very well that she can't make them up," Dumbledore chided him absentmindedly, while keeping his pale blue eyes trained on the form of the potions master, who sat quietly, immersed in his own thoughts. 

He couldn't decide what was killing him worse: the fact that Harry Potter died because of his mistake or the fact that he had failed Severus so horribly when the man came to him for help, ready to give up everything for his only wish to save Lily. Old and useless that was how he felt now and he knew that this was exactly what Voldemort wanted to achieve - the dark warlock wished to drown them all in devastation and hopelessness, regret, that he himself was incapable of feeling. 

"But what do we do now?" Sirius asked, tearing his eyes off of the photograph of his sister grimacing at him from the holding cell. 

"As much as it pains me to admit that: I don't know," the headmaster looked up at his friends, who watched him worriedly. "He is absolutely unpredictable now and we will have to be constantly vigilant and wait for him to make another move. Severus," he addressed the wizard and waited for the black eyes to lock with his, "Try to find out where are all the escapees and the wanted Death Eaters are hiding. It is the least we can do now."

"I will, Albus," Severus promised, however, the doubt was evident in his averted gaze. 

"Perhaps, now that he is not interested in your servitude and espionage, you could try and get closer to him, talk him into disclosing some of his plans?" Minerva offered hesitantly, looking at her young colleague sorrowfully. 

Only yesterday, it seemed, she saw him run late into her class, covered in glue and chicken feathers, embarrassed and angry, and she let him transfigure James Potter into a turkey for his unkind prank. Now the latter was dead, while the former looked like an old man, broken and hollow, scarred too deeply to ever be healed again. They all were so young, so horribly young and everything that happened to them was so unfair. The tears streamed down her face and she didn't try to hide them. Severus, James, Lily, Peter, Alice, Frank... they were supposed to be the future of the new era, not the ghosts of the violent, frightening war. 

A crooked smile was Severus' answer. "I will try, of course, professor." He still couldn't call her by the name, still seeing her as his teacher, not a comrade. "However, I can't promise any results, can't promise I will return alive for that matter." 

"Do you know where his house is situated?" Dumbledore suddenly asked and at the man's perplexed expression elaborated, "I wonder if I could force him into an open confrontation. To at least have an understanding of how powerful he is now after all the experiments he had performed on himself." 

"You can't go there alone!" Sirius exclaimed, crumpling the newspapers in his hands vehemently. "It's too dangerous!"

"We will see about that," the headmaster raised a placating hand and turned to the potions master, who was scowling at his own shoes.

"I am afraid I don't know, Albus, we have never been outside, there are windows in the hall where we meet, but they look at the forest, nothing else. He had warded his manor in such fashion that there are only two rooms we are allowed to enter and apparate to, even the grounds are closed to us."

"Is the manor old, muggle looking inside? I might have an idea what could it be," Dumbledore drawled, stroking his beard.

Severus shook his head helplessly, "I can't say, what I have seen is rather old and dusty, but to label it as muggle would be wrong, as it would be to label it magical. He has certainly considered everything to the smallest detail." 

"He is very careful, I have expected him to act impulsively as he often used to in the past," the headmaster creased his brow and clicked his tongue, disappointed. "But he seems to have finally grown up and gotten control over his anger and desire for vengeance... What in the Merlin's name is he plotting?" 

The question was as rhetorical as it was desperate. Nobody could answer it. 

xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are supposed to be in the 'wrong' order due to the composition of the story

Chapter II. The new beginnings.

 

"Albus, Albus!" Sirius' head showed in the green flames of the hearth in his office, where Albus Dumbledore had just stumbled inside, supporting the bleeding Shacklebot and hurrying Severus to administer the necessary potions. 

"What is it?" he shouted, holding the dark skinned wizard tightly, while the potions master forced the foully smelling concoction into his throat.

"You must come to Grimmauld's this instant, I've called for others already! I found Harry!" Sirius cried wildly and disappeared out of the view.

Severus turned around sharply, dropping the empty vial onto the floor, "Harry?!" He glared at the equally befuddled headmaster and sneered, "Has Black finally lost his mind completely?" 

"We should follow him and see for ourselves, otherwise Alastor might do something he would regret later," Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head tiredly. "Will you be able to floo, Kingsley?" he asked the wounded Auror, who was now breathing more steadily, slumped against his chest. 

"Yes," Shacklebot rasped through his blooded lips, "We must see if it's really Harry..."

"It can't be Potter, I saw him die with my own eyes as did a hundred of Death Eaters!" Severus snarled, grabbing on his potions bag angrily and striding into the tall fireplace with his wand in his hand, ready to curse Black the very second he saw him.

They all stood around the old wooden table in the kitchen, staring wildly at the boy who lay on it, unconscious. His long, wavy, raven hair lay messily around his head and stuck to his wet face - pale and strikingly beautiful it bore an expression of concentration and discomfort, if the slight crease of his thick eyebrows and the tightly pursed red lips were anything to judge by. Fifteen or sixteen years old, he looked barely a teenager. He wore a simple green shirt and a pair of plain black trousers underneath his long, warm, black robe, however, his feet were bare of any shoes or socks. 

"While we were battling the basterds at the manor I saw the kid jump out of the window and thought that he might be a muggle captured for torturing, you know," Sirius spoke fast, shaking all over and clutching the boy's hand in his rough, trembling ones. "But then he took out his wand and started cursing Aurors and I couldn't come up with anything else at the moment but to fire a Stupify at his back, grab him and leave!" 

"Why are you so sure he is Harry Potter?" Moody growled, limping closer to get a better look. They all were battered and injured, having had fought the Death Eaters at the Riddle Manor less than an hour ago - the Dark Lord's lair that they have finally found after long fourteen years of searching. 

"Look at him!" Sirius cried vehemently, taking the boy's face into his hands and turning it for everyone to see, "Look at him! He's James' carbon copy, look, look!" He raised the tightly shut eyelids with his thumbs and demonstrated the bright green eyes, that were hidden underneath them. "These are Lily's eyes! I would have never forgotten this colour!" 

Severus pushed forward sharply through the crowd and bent over the motionless body, staring intently into the young face. Black was right, for once in his life. It was Lily's son, he looked just like his mother, having had inherited his father's long nose and wild hair. But his red lips, his porcelain skin and his delicate, handsome features were undoubtedly Lily's. He raised his harshly shaking wand and waved it over him, muttering the spells - there were no concealment charms, it wasn't a disguise or a potion's work. 

"He is the real Harry Potter," Severus breathed out and stumbled back, looking at the boy and everybody else with wide, horrified eyes. "I don't understand," he shook his head in denial, "I don't understand!"

"He has fooled us all, my boy," Dumbledore told him, but his eyes were locked on Harry's forehead. "The child of the prophecy lives. He was marked by Voldemort," he pointed his finger at the lightning bolt scar and heard a loud intake of air in the oppressing silence, as everybody present caught their breaths. 

"Harry! Harry!" Sirius shook the teen by the shoulders, crying and laughing madly from shock and overwhelming happiness. "Harry, wake up!" he slapped him on the cheeks, but nothing happened.

"Step aside!" Severus snarled, pushing the incompetent idiot away from the child. "He has been raised by the Dark Lord, don't you realize?" He tugged on though ordinary looking but rather expensive clothes, "See, he wasn't tortured in the manor - he lives there, it is the home outfit, the Dark Lord often wears the very same one!" 

"Where is his wand?" Shacklebot managed to ask loudly, holding on tightly to Moody, who had been helping him to stand straight. "We must confiscate it and see what spells had he used."

"I can't take it out of his hand," Sirius rubbed on his neck in confusion, still staring at his long lost godson in astonishment. "It is spelled to stick to his skin and none of the spells I know are able to cancel his." 

Frowning Severus let out a nervous laugh, "Of course you can't do anything to him, Black, he was taught by the Dark Lord - none of your petty Auror spells would be able to harm or to scare him!" 

"Now, now, we shouldn't jump to assumptions so quickly, Severus," Dumbledore raised his hands, when the wizards and witches started arguing whether they should try and force the wand out of his hand or maybe even cut it open. "Let us wake the boy first and hear him out." When silence fell once again and everybody froze in anticipation, the headmaster hovered over the young wizard and pressed his palm against his sweated forehead. "Wake up, Harry, wake up, my boy." 

He woke up with a start, as if something pulled him out of the darkness and threw him into the blinding sunlight. Blinking often he looked around, carefully watching the many faces he had never seen, reading the expressions of fear, agitation, suspicion and surprise in the many eyes that followed his every move. He raised his left hand and pressed it against his aching side. Had he fallen hard? Had he lost his consciousness? 

"Who are you?" he asked hoarsely, focusing on the old man, who was bent over him and whose long, white beard tickled on his right hand, that was clutching something long and wooden tightly between its fingers. 

"I am Albus Dumbledore, my boy," the man told him softly, smiling at him kindly. However, the twinkle in his pale blue eyes promised nothing good. "How are you feeling? Were you wounded? Does it hurt anywhere?" 

"Where am I?" he sat up rigidly, turning his head and taking in every detail of the unknown environment. Only one door, too far away, too many blooded and battered people around - they would easily overpower him. A fireplace. Why was he considering it? He furrowed his brow ever so slightly, suddenly acknowledging an odd heaviness in his head. Something was very wrong, but he couldn't understand what exactly. 

"You are at my home, Harry," a strange, long haired, unshaved man with dark circles under his eyes took him by his arm, stroking it almost lovingly. "I saved you, I am your godfather, Sirius. Do you remember me?"

Snatching his limb out of the other's hold sharply he narrowed his eyes at him, "How do I know you are not lying?" 

"Salazar!" Severus couldn't help but exclaim weakly and pressed his trembling hand against his mouth. 

This very expression used to appear on the Dark Lord's face so often he was certain he would never be able to forget it. The boy was his copy, sans his appearance, everything else - the hostility, the suspicious attitude, the careful watching - belonged to the most dangerous dark wizard in the world. The bright green eyes locked with his and for a second Severus feared he was going to be legilimized on the spot. But the boy simply held his gaze, as if calculating whether Severus could be useful to him or not. Just like the Dark Lord always did.

"Harry, do you remember what happened?" Dumbledore asked, seeing the perplexed expression taking place on the boy's face.

"Why do you call me Harry?" he asked, thinking absentmindedly that the name sounded very familiar.

"It is your name, my boy. Don't you remember?" The old man leaned closer and looked him in the eyes, but he quickly looked away, suddenly aware of what was going to happen next, he didn't know how or why, but he was certain the man was intending to read his mind.

"I don't remember anything. Who am I?" His gaze fell on the wooden stick in his hand. It felt so good to the touch, it filled his heart with hope and confidence, it radiated magic... Magic? "Am I a wizard?" He looked up and saw everybody staring at him with a suspicious relief in their eyes. 

"Amnesia. He lost his memory," Severus concluded aloud. "How hard had you hit him with the spell, Black?" 

"It was very mild, he is a kid after all!" Sirius cried, affronted. "I would have never hurt my godson! There were stones, blasted from the walls, he might have hit his head on one of them before I managed to take him away..." He turned to the boy and smiled at him guiltily, "Forgive me, Harry, I never meant to injure you! I only wanted to save you from the fight!" 

Spells, fights, magic. He was a wizard after all. It was only logical, he thought rationally, looking himself over, with such great power inside him he could hardly be anybody else. 

"I don't know you, none of you, or my name, or age. What year is it? I suppose we are in England, since we all speak in english,at least, it feels like it,” he drawled, squeezing his wand tighter, absolutely certain he couldn't let any of them take it from him. His wand and his magic were his only way of surviving and escaping, eventually. He couldn't remember himself, but there was a deeply rooted notion in his mind that they were not trustworthy, neither of them. 

"The year is 1995, my boy," Dumbledore told him, inwardly marveling how both convenient and inconvenient Harry's condition was, "We are in England, London. You are sixteen years old, have just turned in fact. Today is the 31st of July, your birthday. Your name is Harry James Potter." 

"Har-ry Pot-ter..." he slowly pronounced, closing his eyes and concentrating on it. Yes, it did sound right. There was this strange emptiness in his mind, as if something that had been present there for his whole life was taken from him suddenly. His memory, perhaps? "Do I have a family? Relatives?" he inquired, looking straight at his, supposedly, godfather.

The man shook his head, watching him fearfully and swallowing harshly, "Your parents were killed fourteen years ago and you disappeared. We thought you were dead all these years." 

Wonderful. The more information he received the less sense it made. "Who killed them?" Harry looked at the old man, who called himself Dumbledore. 

"The Dark Lord Voldemort, one of the most dangerous and merciless dark warlocks of the centuries," the old wizard - and everybody present here were magical, he sensed it now - told him gravely. 

The name Voldemort rang a bell and Harry suddenly felt something akin to a pang in his heart when he tried to remember what he knew of this person. The pang so pleasant and unusual, so odd, that he let out a shuddering breath, astonished by the reaction of his body and soul. "Do you remember anything?" Dumbledore asked him.

"No, I am just... Overwhelmed. I can't remember myself and there are no mother and father to help me," Harry lied smoothly, biting on his lower lip. He needed time and loneliness to deal with his emotions and analyze everything he had learned. 

"But you have me, Harry, I am your family as well!" Sirius stepped closer to him and tried to touch him on the hand again, but Harry tensed and moved away from the unwanted contact. 

"You haven't seen me for fourteen years, sir," he emphasized the title, drawing distance between them, "How could you possibly help me?" 

Severus opened his mouth to throw the accusations into the boy's face, but Dumbledore stopped him with a warning glare. "Memory is an intricate thing, Harry, it never really disappears out of your mind, it is simply locked up somewhere in the farthest corners of your consciousness. I am certain you would remember everything, eventually." He summoned a teapot and a cup and poured some hot tea for the boy, "Now, I think you are indeed overwhelmed with everything that had happened to you. It would be best if professor Snape," he gestured at the potions master as he offered Harry the cup, "Examined you for any kind of injures or wounds and you had some rest. You have a lot to catch up to, with both the wizarding world and your godfather." 

Harry smelled the tea, surprised that he could tell exactly which herbs it consisted of and caught the scent of something sweet, very much like a calming draught. Where had this knowledge come to him from? He must have had spent his life amongst other wizards to be so versed in magic and... What was it called? Potions. 

"Thank you, sir," he said modestly and sipped on the tea, thinking that a calming draught wasn't going to harm him. "May I ask for the source from which I could get the latest news? Books, newspapers?" He frowned every time he had to strain his brain and remember a particular word. It was an embarrassing process, but he had to go through it if he wanted to remember everything. 

"I have a huge library for you to use freely, Harry!" Sirius perked up at that, trying to win the boy's trust and interest. "I will give you all the newspapers you need, the whole Ministry archive if you wish!" 

"Thank you, Mr..." 

"Call me Sirius, no need for misters here, we are family, Harry!" Sirius grinned excitedly at the sight of the boy's shy but grateful smile, that was so unexpected and disarming, making his beautiful face look so innocent and pure.

"Thank you, Sirius," Harry stretched his lips in a seemingly uncertain, modest smile, he somehow knew was going to affect everybody in just the right way. 

"Severus, Sirius," Dumbledore clapped his hands together, elated and very pleased with how everything had turned out so far, "Please see to that Harry has everything he needs and is healthy and sated and rested by the time I return in the evening. Everybody else, please, follow me into my office, there is a long discussion ahead of us and an even longer report to the Minister." 

Harry carefully stepped down onto the floor, marveling how pleasantly cool were the polished stones against the sensitive skin of his bare feet. Standing up and shaking his head warningly at Sirius' yet another attempt to touch him he followed the man out, not looking back at the crowd that was watching him as if he was Lazarus, who had just risen from his grave. Laughing inwardly, he raised his eyebrows at the strange parallel he had just drawn - his defected memory held so much information inside, he felt excited at the prospect of bringing it back soon. 

"Are you sure you don't need sleepers?" his godfather asked him, as they walked down the narrow hall of dark wood. 

"No, thank you, Sirius. I prefer it like that," Harry said simply, looking around curiously. 

The place was completely foreign to him, but it was filled with this dark magic - he had no other word for this strange sensation he was experiencing - that calmed him and comforted, very much like it used to before. But where had he felt it? Where had he lived that he was used to dark magic, when almost everybody whom he met today were light wizards and witches? Why did he have a feeling they expected him to be the same? Was he? Harry tried to reach inside of him, but felt too weak and tired for that - he swayed on his feet and was caught by the arm. The black onyx eyes locked with his and Severus, or what was this man's name, instantly jerked away from him, watching him warily. The man knew something and was hiding it from him, and Harry intended to change that. 

"You will stay in my room, Harry, I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight anyway," Sirius told him when they ascended the stairs and entered one of the first bedrooms. The man quickly banished the empty bottles, the old cigarettes and the food crumples that were scattered all over the floor and changed the sheets on the bed. 

"Are you a... doctor?" Harry turned to ask the tall, dark wizard who followed behind.

"No," Severus sneered at him, trying to hide his fear and grief, that was gripping his heart in a vice. Lily's child, the one he vowed to protect, had been living right under his nose all this time and had been raised by the monster, turned into one, undoubtedly. If only he had really died... "I have a vast experience in medicine, however, since I am a potions master. I create the cure that mediwizards use in our world," he explained grudgingly, feigning boredom and watching Black hide his muggle magazines underneath the bed. "I am capable of providing medical help when the situation calls for it." 

"Sirius, I know it might sound strange, however, to be honest I don't know," Harry smiled shyly at his godfather, lowering his eyelashes and holding his hands folded behind his back modestly, "But could you leave professor and me alone? I don't feel comfortable undressing in front of people." 

"Of course, of course, Harry, I will fetch something to eat," Sirius grinned, winking at him, and hastily left, closing the door behind him. 

The two wizards stood in silence, watching each other carefully. Harry decided to take the initiative into his hands. "I think you wanted to say something very important down there, sir, but Mr Dumbledore didn't let you. Please, I would very much like to hear everything you wish to tell me," he offered nonchalantly, keeping his expression as friendly and open as possible. 

"I have nothing to tell you, Potter," Severus cut off, looking away, wary to meet the gaze of the emerald eyes, that were too intelligent for a mere teenager. 

"I see," Harry nodded. He slowly took off his robe, careful to hold on to his wand tightly all the time, and draped it over the back of the closest armchair. "I suppose you all know where I came from, since, obviously, that is where Sirius has found me and saved me, as he put it. However, none of you wish to share the knowledge with me. I wonder why?" He unbuttoned his shirt, carefully watching the potions master out of the corner of his eye. He was the darkest wizard of all he had seen tonight, he could have been connected to the mysterious Dark Lord Voldemort. 

"I am not obliged to answer your questions so I would not tell you," Severus sighed and, before he realized what the harsh movement of the other's arm meant, he found himself immobilized and his wand clutched in Harry's left hand.

He stepped closer and pressed the tip of his holly wand against the frantically pulsing vein on the wizard's long neck, "I might not remember who I am, sir, but magic is in my blood and is impossible to be forgotten. Now, please tell me, where has Sirius brought me from?" Harry tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows questioningly at the scowling professor. 

The boy was only sixteen and he had already mastered the wordless magic under the tutelage of one Dark Lord. Why had the man spent fourteen years on raising a boy who was destined to defeat him? If only he knew the last lines of the prophecy... Bloody Dumbledore never told him. 

"I would not tell you anything, Potter. You may crucio me as long as you wish to, I am used to it." 

Crucio? Harry frowned in thought. Wasn't it an Unforgivable spell he was prohibited of using? But who had forbidden him to torture? Lowering his wand confusedly he stepped aside and rubbed on his chin thoughtfully. 

"I do not want to torture you, I simply want to hear the truth, that is all."

"Let me go, Potter, your beloved godfather is an Auror - his job is to punish wizards who ignore the law, just like you do. Teenagers and children are prohibited to use magic within the walls of their schools until the age of seventeen," the potions master hissed acidly, however, his threats didn't quite reach Harry, it seemed. 

Snape understood now why Dumbledore stopped him from saying anything about the Dark Lord - if the boy found out he was raised by the warlock it might trigger his memories back or motivate him to do something irresponsible and then it would be impossible to influence him. Nobody had any idea what was he capable of and what exactly had Voldemort taught him. 

Harry turned his back on the wizard to think, when a thought, as if given him by another, came to his mind: never turn your back on those you don't trust. He looked back, inwardly wondering where all this came from, who taught him to be so careful and cautious? 

"How do I know that what you have told me is the truth? How do I know you are not my enemies?" He asked the stern professor not really caring to hear his answer. "How do I get back home?" he sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He had a strong, clear feeling of longing in his heart. He missed someone or something dearly. The more he came back to his senses and magic, the sharper he felt it.

Harry canceled the spell just in time with Sirius' entrance and Severus once again could not act or speak. He angrily summoned his wand out of the boy's hand and stormed out of the room, followed by a befuddled gaze of the Auror. 

 

"And just what happened to Snivellus?" he raised his eyebrows at his godson, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Professor said I am perfectly fine, but a little rest wouldn't hurt," Harry said, smiling, climbing onto the bed and crossing his legs just like he always did. Only that ‘always’ was still rather vague to him.

"Alright. Here's a little bit of everything for you to eat," Sirius passed him a small tray, filled with sausages, vegetables, a few potatoes and a glass of milk, "And here are a few books I thought you need to read first. The History of Magic, the History of Hogwarts... And the last three issues of the Daily Prophet I could find in the kitchen." 

"Thank you, Sirius," Harry stretched his lips some more, waiting for the man to finally leave him in peace.

"Oh," the wizard stood up and halted at the door, "I brought you this as well, thought it might help you remember," he held out a photograph. "Get some rest, Harry, I will check on you in an hour and a half." Smiling at him warmly Sirius left.

Harry looked down at the picture in his hands. Two young people stood closely, embracing each other and waving at the camera, laughing and shouting something. He watched their faces, but they meant absolutely nothing to him and didn't awaken any kind of emotions inside. These were his parents, his resemblance to them both was undeniable. He was too young when they died, there was literally nothing to hold on to except the knowledge that they were the ones who gave him life. Harry threw it carelessly on the bedside table and switched his attention on to his meal. He was slowly recognizing himself, as he ate all the vegetables and drunk the milk, but banished the sausages and potatoes, wrinkling his nose in disgust - he wasn't used to such kind of food. And what kind did he like, he wondered? He couldn't remember. 

Sighing he opened the History of Magic and paged to the very end of it, seeking the information that covered the last twenty years. There was none. Everything ended up in the middle of the fifties. Closing the book angrily and throwing it in the opposite corner of the room Harry fell back on the pillows and groaned pitifully, rubbing on his head. The migraine was slowly washing over him. How was he going to remember if there was no information at all? He felt in his very gut that the Dark Lord Voldemort was the key to the mystery of his past life, but had no way of finding out the truth yet. 

xxx

He didn't think he had ever felt so helpless before in his life. Sitting on the lower step of the ruined staircase, holding Harry's nightshirt pressed against his face he breathed deeply, trying to take in as much of the boy's scent as he could, to fill his lungs with it and wake up to realize it all to be a nightmare. How could he have lost Harry? Of all of his horcruxes he lost the most important one, the one who had stopped being a vessel so long ago, but became so much more than just a friend... 

"Why did you let him come out at all? Were not my instructions specific enough that under no circumstances was the boy to be let out?" he asked in a hollow, distant voice.

"Forgive me, master," Daedalus weeped, clutching onto Voldemort's bare, blooded feet and washing them lovingly with a wet towel, "I did as you told me, I even used my magic on master Harry, but he is so powerful, he stunned me, master, and bound me and before I could stop him he had already jumped out of the window! Please, forgive me!" The old elf kissed the cold, scarred skin, thinking fearfully of what would happen to his young master who had never gone anywhere on his own, without the Dark Lord, and now was forced to face the enemies all alone out there.

"Imbecilic boy, I have told him time and again to never interfere, he wasn't ready yet," Voldemort hissed into the cloth angrily, however, Daedalus heard how much more worried he was than enraged. "Can't you find him yet? His consciousness is closed from me, he might have fainted or was injured severely." 

"No, master," the elf sobbed quietly, "He is hidden behind very strong wards, much older than the ones that used to surround your manor." The shielding layers had fallen under the attack of the Order and the whole Auror Division earlier today and now the house stood half ruined, surrounded by the dead bodies from the both sides, left by their comrades to rot. 

"Must be one of the Order's manors they use as headquarters," he muttered absentmindedly, once again throwing himself at the invisible barrier that now separated him from Harry and no magic, not even as great as the one that he wielded, could trespass it. 

He dreaded to imagine what would they do to his boy once they realize who he is and where had he been hidden all these years. He had never experienced fear during these last fourteen years, he had forgotten how embarrassing, how cold and devastating the feeling was, and he hadn't taught the boy so much, they have covered so little of what he had to know in order to survive out there... 

"Harry." He dropped the nightshirt into his lap, looking at it impassively, stroking the front piece that used to cover the boy's chest. "Go and pack our library, Daedalus, see to that every book is preserved from damage and put everything into my vault in Gringotts," he ordered not sparing the elf another glance.

"Yes, master," Daedalus hurried to comply, rubbing the fat tears off of his small, wrinkled face. He had rarely seen the Dark Lord in such a horrible state, he looked like he had lost everything. However, when the old elf thought about it, Harry might have very well been everything and more to the red eyed warlock - the boy had changed him and his life dramatically, even if it didn't look like it at first. 

Voldemort apparated into Harry's room and began sorting out his clothes and folding them neatly, meticulously, into an old chest that stood at the end of the bed. His hands trembled harshly as did his lips, as he picked up the novels that Harry had been reading just the previous evening, having had left them opened and crumpled amongst his bed covers - how could a boy, who loved reading so much, be so disrespectful towards books? 

His gaze fell on the broom, Harry’s favourite Firebolt, that stood in the corner, and he roared, having had finally surrendered to the rage that was boiling inside him. The windows cracked and the sharp shards of glass fell onto the floor, ringing loudly in the unusual silence that filled the house. He could have killed them all if only he wished to, and oh he did wish to do just that so much! But he couldn't let his emotions control his actions until Harry was in the safety of his arms again. Voldemort grabbed on the broom and threw it into the chest as well, itching to blow the whole place up and to get rid of the horrible monster that was clawing on his chest and gripping his heart in a vice.

It seemed that only yesterday he brought the small, frightened Harry Potter into this room and left him here under the sleeping spell. They have spent fourteen years together, fourteen long and at the same time short, fruitful, magical years together, that he thought were the best time of his life. And it all had been taken from him in a flick of fingers. 

Taking a habitually deep, calming breath to pull himself together he tardily realized that Harry wasn't around to feel his rage through their link and wasn't going to whine about how horribly his scar and head ached because 'somebody wasn't able to control that rotten temper of his'. Even though he taught the boy Occlumency they rarely used it during the last few years, leaving their minds permanently open to each other, after they have become closer than ever. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut and growling lowly in need and longing, anger, Voldemort swore to himself that he would kill Harry personally as soon as he finds him. Nobody had ever affected him so much, nobody had ever touched him so deeply, made him experience so many complex emotions as Harry had. His lovely Harry.

"Take this chest," he told Daedalus when the elf popped into the room and dutifully reported that the task had been completed. "We will be staying at Malfoy Manor until I find Harry." 

When they apparated into the main hall of the rich and pompous manor it was already evening and the elves were lighting up the chandeliers, that hang low and dinged slightly under their touch. Voldemort confidently strode forward, knowing very well where he could find Narcissa, whose service he needed right now.

"Mom!" A fair haired teenager, Lucius' only son Draco cried and ran in the opposite direction when he saw who entered the living room. He, of course, had seen the Dark Lord before, but never in such a state.

"My lord!" Narcissa kneeled before him, making him halt his pace and stop before her, panting loudly. His blood pounded in his ears and he barely heard her soft, weak voice. "It is such an honour to have you as our guest! Please, accept my condolences regarding the destruction of your manor-"

"Stop this nonsense, I am not in the mood for this now, Narcissa. Your husband has barely escaped arrest and is now hiding only Salazar knows where - I must be informed of his return immediately," he growled tiredly. Of course she knew where Lucius was, but he had no strength and no wish to interrogate her now, all he could think of was Harry.

"Y-yes, of course, my lord!" She looked up at him fearfully, holding the torn hem of his robe in her white, groomed hands that never knew labour. 

"I will take my usual room, my elf will see to everything. Pretend I am not here," he gritted out and brushed past her, striding towards the secret library that was hidden behind one of the many tall portraits of the Malfoy predecessors. Muttering the password under his nose he entered through the narrow door and called for Daedalus. Having had selected a few most precious and darkest tomes along with his horcrux-journal he held them out to the elf, "Take these into my vault as well. There is a horcrux amongst them, be careful to hide it thoroughly." The creature obediently disappeared. Now that everything had been secured he only had to find Harry, who - and he often regretted that - could not be kept hidden in a vault but had to cause so many problems all the time.

The first rays of sun of the new day met him wide awake, lying on the bed that felt so uncomfortable without another warm body pressed against his. He couldn't help but think back on his life and Harry and the way the boy had grown on him. Rolling onto his side and squinting at the bright summer light he suddenly remembered the first time he and Harry shared a bed. It was a cold, autumn night, the storm rumbled outside, tearing the trees out of the very soil, banging angrily on the windows, and the lightning flashed blindingly, depriving everyone in Little Hangleton of their sleep. Harry was four years old and got so frightened that night that he dared to come into his master’s bedroom. They had started communicating more by that time, Voldemort had to reluctantly begin teaching the boy to read and to write, but they always spent their time together in his study only, Harry had never been in his bedroom before. 

Voldemort lay on his side, just like now, awake and listened to the thunder outside, when the door softly creaked on its hinges and a moment later a small, trembling body was pressed against his back and tangled in his covers. For the first time in his life he was completely at loss and didn't know what to do. He entertained the idea of throwing the boy out, for he had no wish to cultivate a habit in him that he could find comfort or compassion in his mentor and master's bed, however, he realized then that Harry needed to find trust and protection in him. And if the boy trusted him then he could trust the boy as well. He smiled ruefully at the memory of the morning that followed, when he woke up and found his arms full of small, warm child, who was snoring sweetly into his shirt.

Everything changed between them then. Harry grew more confident and, even though he never slept with him again until a certain age, started seeking for the physical contact, which Voldemort always despised so much. The boy wasn't as shy and self-conscious as he used to be. At some point they've started spending more time together, not only studying but enjoying each other's company. Being the quiet and the intelligent child that he was Harry found particular pleasure in reading together in front of the fireplace in the study, sitting at his master's feet, leaning back on his long legs and watching the pictures in his book move, while Voldemort read his correspondence, or scientific tomes, or wrote in his working journal. He had never enjoyed the presence of another human being, but Harry was different. Perhaps, it was because of the piece of his soul hidden in the boy, that he felt so at ease around him and even liked to have a smaller body pressed against him so nicely? He never really questioned the harmony of their coexistence and, if he was honest with himself, didn't care what was the actual cause of it - he simply couldn't live without it, without Harry, anymore. 

"I will find you, wherever you are," he promised, stroking the empty place beside him, imagining that the raven haired boy lay there, smiling at him and sighing lustfully under his touch. "You are mine - nothing will ever change that." 

xxx

Harry didn’t noticed that he had in fact fallen asleep. He sat up and hissed at the searing pain in his head - he must have had really hit himself on one of those stones the man, who called himself his godfather, spoke of. Rubbing on the aching spot at the back of his scull he pulled his wand from underneath his pillow, where he had habitually put it, and whispered a healing spell, barely registering that he knew one at all. Perplexed he looked at his own hands and at his long, straight wand of reddish dark wood with a delicate handle at the end of it. Everything seemed so surreal to him and yet he had no doubts that these hands and this wand were truly his. 

Creasing his brow he climbed off of the bed and tentatively approached a tall, dusty mirror, that stood in the corner of the room, hidden underneath the layers of dirty shirts Sirius had thrown at it. Harry swallowed harshly as his own reflection stared at him dumbly, when the clothes were removed. Porcelain skin, thin, delicately sculpted face, red, nicely shaped lips, straight, slightly pointed nose and a pair of big, bright green eyes underneath thick, black eyebrows. How could he have concluded that he was a copy of his dead parents if he didn't remember himself? Pushing his hand into his hair helplessly he winced at himself in devastation - everything was completely wrong, absolutely, inadmissibly wrong.

He felt for his shoulders, his arms and his ribs - he was thin, but not bony, rather well built, fit, as if he had been constantly performing physical exercises. Unbuttoning his green shirt once again, that he noticed matched his eye colour perfectly, Harry shook it off of himself and looked his torso over, turning left and right. There was a bruise on his left side, the one that ached but not unbearably so. Leaning closer to the mirror he looked intently at his neck, pushing his long, unruly waves of hair up - there was a small bruise right under his ear. Could it be an injury from the fall? He touched it carefully but it didn't hurt, in fact, it felt very nice to caress the spot with the tips of his fingers... 

Confused, he twisted his body to see it better, so that the light of the candles fell on it more clearly - there were teeth marks. Harry jerked away, suddenly frightened. He had been bitten by another human being on the neck! But it didn't hurt, on the contrary... He imagined what could it feel like to be bitten there and felt a mild, pleasant twitching between his legs. Even though his mind couldn't analyze everything properly, his body remembered everything - Harry realized he was aroused. He hastily tugged on the buttons of his trousers and pushed them down, staring wildly at his half hard penis. For one he was grateful that his organism was functioning well, however, he felt slightly embarrassed and uncomfortable to find that he needed to deal with this little problem, as if it wasn't enough for one day already.

Harry entered the bathroom, that adjoined the bedroom, stepped underneath the hot shower, wondering curiously at how easily his body adjusted and acted right, despite his consciousness being clouded and disoriented. His right hand moved, on its own accord it seemed, to stroke his cock and Harry moaned softly, suddenly very hard and hot. In just a few quick squeezes and heavy sighs he came, watching with wide eyes his sperm ejaculating. It felt good, it helped to loosen the tension in his muscles, however, and he wished to know how did he know that, he felt it wasn't as satisfying as it should have been... As it used to be. Had he done this often before? Well, if he was sixteen, as they said, then, perhaps, it was normal? Harry didn't know, he couldn't remember. 

Sighing heavily in exhaustion, overwhelmed with the unstoppable stream of information that he couldn't digest properly yet, he returned to the bed, threw his clothes on himself, having had cleaned them with yet another spell that came to him as breathing, and tentatively opened the door into the hall. Nobody was there. Narrowing his eyes and grabbing on his wand tighter he soundlessly walked onto the landing, tiptoeing like a thief, making short but quick steps with such genuine easiness, he couldn't for the life of him fathom where had he learned all these skills. 

Listening in to any foreign sounds he walked over to the opposite doors and tapped on them with the tip of his wand, unlocking. He took a brief glance inside each of the bedrooms, turning yet another inherited thought in his head: study the foreign environment as closely and as throughly as possible, concentrate on details, watch out for traps and seemingly harmless objects. ‘Listen to your instincts’. This was the notion he thought he could practically hear being said in somebody else's voice in his head, as if it had been repeated to him so many times it got imprinted in his memory. Perhaps, it did. But who was his mysterious tutor? 

Harry halted at the threshold of one of the dustiest, dirtiest rooms of all he had just seen. Something was amiss, something, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, was calling for him. Trying not to breathe, to avoid sneezing, he slowly moved towards what seemed to be the source of the odd pull. A small box of wood stood innocently on the desk, practically baiting him to touch it and get cursed. How did he know he would? Frowning, Harry bent over it and examined the box thoroughly. 

There was dark magic inside it, the one that was pulling on the strings of his soul and begged him to take it. But there was also dark magic around the box, very much like an invisible dome, protecting it from disturbance of naughty boys. ‘Curiosity killed a cat, however, a cat has nine lives and therefore nine tries to sate its curiosity’. Where had he heard this strange idiom? Scratching on his head with his wand he considered the annoying box - it was obvious that the wizard, who had put the curse on it, was adamant to hide whatever it was inside it, but Harry felt unexpectedly certain that its contains belonged to him. And thus it was his right to have it back. 

Pointing his wand at it Harry concentrated, trying to recall a spell that could destroy the wards, and hissed under his breath the incantation when it slowly appeared in his memory. With a soft groan the invisible dome cracked and the lid of the box opened sharply on its own accord, making Harry take a quick, careful step back. There lay a small golden locket inside it, its gleam mesmerized him and called for him sweetly, lovingly, practically seducing him with its song. Smiling broadly Harry fearlessly picked it up and couldn't help but moan in pleasure - it felt as if he had had an orgasm again and as if he had found something he was missing for a lifetime. Tears of pleasure and happiness streamed down his face as he clutched the locket close to his chest and sobbed, shaking all over. What was this locket, what was it doing here, warded so strongly in a room that was obviously never used? 

Not giving it a second thought Harry hang the locket around his neck, stroking it gently and smiling at its darkness purring in response. It felt as if the object had a soul of its own, as if it was alive. It was nonsense, of course, Harry huffed to himself, amnesia or not he wasn't an idiot to believe something so purely irrational and illogical. As he left the room and grabbed the handle to close the door behind him, another thought struck him: never leave any trace that could be used against you later, always clean up your mess - nobody would do it in your stead. Frowning, he looked back and gasped at the sight of his own tracks, left by his bare feet in the layer of dirt on the floor. He hastily waved his wand to close the box, put up the very same ward around it, restored the dust back as it used to be and closed the door, spelling it shut. After he had cleaned all the handles that he touched Harry let out a heavy breath, shaking his head in amusement and slowly subsiding fear - he could have fucked it all up epically, if it wasn't for the fragments of his memories so helpfully coming back to him. 

Soft murmurs reached his ears from downstairs and he bent over the bannister to listen in. There were several people in the kitchen talking and his intuition told him that he was the subject of their discussion. Reluctantly he took the locket off and hid it in his pocket - its sudden appearance around his neck would cause too many questions and he intended to keep the trinket a secret, since it belonged to him and had nothing to do with any of these suspicious people. Harry quickly ran down the stairs and stopped at the entrance into the room, hidden out of the view in the dark shadows. ‘Shadows are your best friends’. 

"Albus, this is insanity! Why on earth would you want to move Harry anywhere else?" Sirius barked, affronted and angry, standing rigidly up with his arms crossed over his chest. "It is impossible to breach the wards on this house, they are as old as Hogwarts! Nobody would be able to come here and kidnap him!" 

"Sirius, you are forgetting that you have two sisters - they both serve Voldemort, who had already started searching for Harry, of that I am certain. It wouldn't take him long to realize that the boy is hidden in one of the warded mansions. He would of course check out yours first, since he knows you are Harry's godfather. Either Bellatrix or Narcissa may come here and the boy would be lost to us forever. It is a miracle you found him at all," Dumbledore explained patiently. 

Harry scowled at his words. The Dark Lord Voldemort was looking for him? But what for? Once again he thought that the mysterious wizard was the corner stone of all of his troubles - if only he knew what was there between them except for his parents’ deaths...

"Let them come, then! I will stay here and guard him!" Sirius shouted, puffing his chest.

"Black, you have already done enough the last time when the Dark Lord killed Potters and kidnapped the brat!" Severus sneered at the man acidly, glaring at him with evident hatred in his black eyes. "You wouldn't be able to stand against Bellatrix, of that I can assure you. She is as powerful as she is insane." 

The Dark Lord had kidnapped him? Harry felt his gut freeze in horror and... Familiarity. He must have lived under Voldemort's protection all his life! It was only logical, judging by how powerful and how very well versed in magic he was. His head spun: the man who had made him an orphan had also raised him up and educated him. Covering his mouth with his hand, to prevent any sounds from escaping his suddenly trembling lips, he listened further. 

"However," the potions master drawled, looking back at the old wizard, "Why are you planning to hide him amongst muggles? With that wretched family, of all the possible candidates? Why not send him over to bloody Weasleys?"

"Because it would be expected of me," Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head tiredly, "Voldemort would look for him all over magical Britain, he would search every family, Weasleys would be, most probably, his first target. He would never think of looking for the boy in Surrey, and even if he does - the relatives' blood would protect Harry from him." 

"Can't you hide him at Hogwarts? Most slytherins would be absent since their parents are all under suspicion and most heads of the families are on the wanted list, even Malfoy! Surely, Harry would be safest at the school!" Sirius pressed.

"I have been considering this option," the headmaster nodded his head, "But I am wary of letting Harry socialize with other students. As far as I understand he had never met any other wizards, being permanently locked up in Voldemort's manor. It is impossible to predict what would he do, should a conflict transpire, or how powerful he is and what is he capable of..." 

"As much as I hate to agree with the mutt, Albus, it is truly best to put the brat into school, where you and I and Minerva will be watching out for him," Severus growled. "It is impossible to predict what would he do to the muggles, since he is the Dark Lord's heir or whatever he is." 

"There is still a month until the term starts, none of the teachers are present, the three of us are busy enough with the Order - Hogwarts is vulnerable now. Let's put Harry with Dursleys for the time being and then we will see. I have already asked Moody - he and a few of his young Aurors will be watching out for the boy in Surrey." Dumbledore offered both men a small, encouraging smile. 

He wasn't very happy with placing Harry there either, but he had no other choice. He needed time to study the boy and to find out what was this power of his, of which the prophecy said, that could defeat Voldemort. Of course it would have been a perfect solution to put Harry into Hogwarts and personally test him there, but Dumbledore feared to underestimate him, just like he had underestimated Voldemort for so many times. 

"If anything happens to Dursleys, if they end up dead, skinned alive, tortured into insanity, or turned into a pile of steaming insides - do not tell me I never warned you," Severus drawled lazily and stood up to leave. "I have guarded the brat long enough for today, I would love to bid my goodbyes, since there are still a lot of potions to be brewed. If ‘he’ calls for me - I will send you a note, Albus." And without a glance back he disappeared through the green flames in the tall fireplace. Blinking dumbly at it Harry suddenly remembered about the Floo system. He knew how to use it! But he didn't remember where was he supposed to floo back... 

"So, when are you planning to send him there?" Sirius growled in displeasure. 

"Tomorrow." Dumbledore stood up as well, smoothing his robes. "I have to meet them first now, deliver the news. Perhaps, even put a mild compulsion spell on Petunia... So many years have passed since I last saw her, I have no idea how would she react to her nephew being alive and... Well, obviously magical." He raised his hand sharply, when Sirius opened his mouth to say something else. "No, you are not allowed to visit him there. They would undoubtedly spy on you, in a hope that you would lead them to the boy. So if you value Harry's life and well being and if you want him to stay with you eventually - you will be patient and discreet and would obey my orders, Sirius," he said softly and stepped closer to pat the tall wizard on his shoulder kindly. "I can imagine how much it hurts you to be separated once again, but Harry is not an infant, it is impossible to hide him with other magical means - you have seen for yourself how powerful he is and how intelligent. The only way to keep him away from Voldemort is to bind him down with the blood. If you were his blood relative, Sirius, there would have never been any problem, believe me. But alas..." 

"Yes, yes, I understand," the auror scowled, lifting his shoulders up in annoyance. "Everything just seems to be happening so fast..." Sirius turned away and leaned back on the table. "I buried three coffins, Albus, one of them was empty. I buried it hoping against hope that Harry was truly dead and nothing was going to harm him anymore. I was mistaken. He lived and... I know it's amnesia, I know he can't remember anything, but when I look at him and see this guarded, calculating stare of his... I can't help but shudder inside. Nobody knows what has he been doing all these years. Maybe Snape is right?"

"Do not lose hope now, when you have Harry back, Sirius," Dumbledore smiled at him kindly. "I understand, I share your worries and concerns, however, I have faith in our boy. If it is indeed the way the prophecy meant to come true, then nothing is lost. Perhaps, it was meant to be that Harry was raised by him and now that he knows him better than anyone he has the power to destroy him."

Prophecy. Harry slowly stumbled back into the hall, looking around fearfully, feeling suddenly hot and breathless. Was he supposed to kill the Dark Lord? Was it what all these wizards and witches expected of him? Was he truly destined for something so horrible? The mere idea of killing another person made his stomach churn in disgust and discomfort. He was no murderer, he wasn't... raised like this. Odd, he thought, he couldn't remember the man who taught him, but he remembered how much averse he was to hurting others. Could he have grown up a good person in the Dark Lord's house? Perhaps, the wizard didn't actually raise him, but simply kept him hidden, while somebody else cared for him? Feeling that his head was going to explode from the amount of questions Harry darted up the stairs and back into the room. Standing in front of the mirror once again he stared intently at his reflection, searching his face, silently asking himself if he was indeed a good person? It was possible he simply forgot that he had already killed somebody. 

xxx

"Harry, wake up, my darling." He heard a deep, velvet whisper over his ear and smiled at the sensation of strong, warm arms circling his body tightly. A hand caressed his thigh and buttock and slid down to stroke his penis. "Wake up, Harry. Ha-a-ar-ry."

"Mmm, I don't want to," he mumbled back, moaning into the pillow, as the strokes became more persistent and pleasant. 

"Lazy arse." A soft laughter brushed against his cheek and Harry gasped as the teeth bit into his neck and moist lips sucked on the skin hungrily. He arched his body, moaning, pushing his own hand to cover the one that was pumping his cock so harshly, so well... "I will make you." A lustfully groaned promise hung in the air and Harry cried weakly as he came, struggling to inhale air into his seemingly constricted, dry lungs. 

The world spun around him and he sat up sharply on the bed, looking around in perplexion. Nobody was here beside him, he was alone in the room he had been placed in yesterday, his godfather's bedroom. It was just a dream... Harry looked down at his trousers and felt his face grow hot in embarrassment. He simply had a wet dream. A dream about another man touching him. Now was that normal? 

"It must be," he told himself, "It must be normal, if my body react to it so... Normally." Gulping down the hysterical sob, that was threatening to come out of his chest Harry hastily ran into the bathroom to wash away any traces of the strange dream that seemed too real to be a mere vision. He could still feel the hands mapping his body, the breath tickling on his skin, the voice reaching deeply inside him... Everything was so fucked up and he couldn't remember a thing about himself and the way he lived. 

"Hey, Harry, good morning!" Sirius greeted him, when Harry shuffled back into room, wet, with his dump clothes clinging to his body. "Have you forgotten that you are supposed to take your clothes off when showering?" The man stared at him in amusement, placing the tray of food onto the bed.

"No, I remember that. I washed my clothes as well, just didn't dry it," Harry muttered and waved his wand over his form. 

Watching his movements carefully Sirius shrugged his shoulders, "Whatever. I brought you breakfast. Yesterday when I came back to check on you you were still asleep and slept so peacefully and deeply I didn't have the heart to wake you for the supper," he smiled broadly and gestured for the boy to sit down and eat. "So you'd better eat all of these, you need energy to help your body and mind heal faster." 

"Thank you, Sirius," Harry nodded his head and took the bowl of porridge. Somehow he thought he loved it, used to love it at least. But its taste was so plain, so dull, that he had to force it all down his throat, wrinkling his nose in disgust. The porridge that he liked was sweet and light, fruity... 

"I didn't think you like porridge," Sirius drawled wondrously, "Your father and I always hated it and I remember he refused to let you eat it," he chuckled mirthfully, obviously taken by the memories of the past. The past that Harry would never remember even if his mind healed completely. 

"Why did you make it then?" he asked, putting the empty bowl down and frowning at the sensation of the porridge falling down into his stomach, very much like a stone falls on the bottom of the river. 

"I asked Sirius to make it for you," Dumbledore suddenly appeared at the threshold and smiled at Harry brightly. "You need it to regain strength, you are a young, growing boy after all."

"Hello, Mr Dumbledore," Harry greeted the old man, inwardly bracing himself for the hammer to fall. No doubt the wizard came here to take him away and put him with the mysterious relatives of his, that they called muggles.

"Good morning, my boy," the headmaster replied cheerfully and walked inside the room and sat down on the chair opposite Harry and Sirius, who both sat on the bed with a tray lying between them. "I hope you are feeling better today?" At the boy's nod he folded his hands in his lap and smiled some more, "I have some wonderful news for you, Harry. We have found your aunt, your mother's sister - Petunia. She and her family are muggles. Do you know what does the term mean?" At the negative shake of the other's head he explained, "Muggles are people who do not have any kind of magical powers in them and in their blood. Which means that her son, your cousin Dudley, isn't a wizard and his children will not be wizards and so on. Your grandparents were muggles as well, it was only Lily, your mother, who was born magical. It happens rather often, that a witch or a wizard is being born to muggles. As such they are called muggleborns. Petunia has agreed to take you in for some time, before I come up with a better place for you to hide at."

"Why do I have to hide? Why do you want to place me with these muggles, as you call them, when I am a wizard? Do they know of us? Isn't it dangerous to be with them?" Harry asked, feigning ignorance. The more he thought of it the more he remembered who muggles were. Enemies. They were enemies, they were to be feared and avoided at all costs. Preferably destroyed, the deep voice, that belonged to somebody else, helpfully hinted to him. 

Sharing a concerned look with Sirius Dumbledore answered, "Voldemort is looking for you. He is dangerous, Harry, he wishes to harm you. Unfortunately, you can't stay with your godfather, since he is the first one whom the Dark Lord's servants would search for. Nobody would be looking for you in the muggle world, for nobody knows of Petunia. And even if they will discover her existence, they would not be able to kidnap you or harm you in any way possible - I would put a special ward around her house, a blood ward. Your relation would hide you from anybody who wishes you harm." 

"But why is he looking for me? Didn't you say you thought I died fourteen years ago?" he looked between the two wizards, wondering if they would tell him where had he been found. He was almost certain it was the Dark Lord's house. If only he knew where it was situated, or its name at least, he could have paid a visit and get to the bottom of this mystery. Certainly, if the man kept him safe all these years he wasn't going to kill him, even an idiot would have realized that! But they kept constantly trying to convince him of the opposite. 

"There was a prophecy made before you were born, Harry," the headmaster said quietly, "The prophecy says that you are the one who is supposed to defeat Voldemort. That was why he attacked your parents that night. That is why he is looking for you now - he wants to kill you." 

"This is very illogical, sir," Harry huffed and stood up to look out of the window. The two wizards stared at him in confusion and he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "If he came to kill me that night why am I still alive? Where have I been all this time? How does he know I am suddenly back, if, for example, I assume that he too thought me to be dead?" He shook his head at them chidingly. "I know you are lying to me. You want to hide me from him, because he was the one who took me that night, didn't he? He, probably, raised me as his own, to nullify this prophecy or whatever this thing is. And now he wants me back and you are trying to make me into your weapon and get rid of him. Did I miss something?" 

"Harry," Dumbledore addressed him in a very serious tone, "Prophecies are not to be taken lightly. Prophecy is the manifestation of a Fate that is inevitable. You are destined to destroy him, no matter how hard he tries to change you, to make you loyal to him. One day you will have to kill him. Besides, neither we, nor you know what did his raising entail. Do you remember what he did to you? We do not know either. All I know is that Voldemort is the cruelest, most heartless man I have ever met in my life. He knows no love, no regret, no guilt, he masterfully manipulates people into blind submission and makes them believe whatever is most beneficial to him at the moment. He is a very powerful warlock, Harry, he might have used spells and curses on you to make you loyal and obedient. He might have even tortured you - he always does it to his most faithful servants. He is a ruthless murderer, Harry, he killed your parents easily and without a second thought. I only wish to protect you from him - he is not the one to be trusted."

Harry looked at Sirius, whose eyes were wet with tears, that welled up but could not be shed. The man seemed sincere, the least suspicious and cunning of them all. His gaze told Harry that he believed the old man's words to be true. However, that didn't mean he wasn't lied to either. Everything was too complicated, he had no way of knowing who could be really trusted. 

"But what makes you think he would kill me now, if he finds me?" 

"He knows we have you," his godfather murmured. "He would kill you simply because we might have done something to you. He is a paranoid psychopath, Harry, he kills people for looking at him in a wrong fashion. If he suspects one of his followers of treason - he tortures him for days and weeks until the wizard loses his sanity and then finishes him off just in case... He is mad, Harry, he is absolutely crazy and unpredictable. I... We are not ready to let you really die after being dead for so long. You must live. Not for the prophecy thing but for your parents, who had sacrificed their lives for your sake." 

"Beside the spell we will put up guards around the house, so that nobody could get to you, my boy," Dumbledore added. "You must understand, Harry, nobody is forcing you to fight him right now, you are too young yet, you spent your whole life confined in a house, deprived of socializing and developing as a person - this is another reason why I want you to live with your muggle relatives. For you to see the ordinary people, the way they live, to learn to communicate with them. It will be years until you are ready to face him and destroy him. But do not worry, we will always be with you and we will help you along the way." 

Harry wanted to object that he was best off without any kind of socializing, that he didn't need anybody and was a complete person already, but knew his opinion wouldn't be appreciated and he held it back. Whatever he said now he knew he would be outsmarted again, simply because he couldn't remember anything. 

"I see." Was all he said, as he watched the empty streets through the window, biting on his lower lip and wondering when, when was he going to wake up from this nightmare. 

"Then I suggest you put on your robe and some shoes," Dumbledore clapped his hands and he rose up from his seat. "Muggles do not understand walking barefoot, Harry," he smiled at the boy, who gave him a skeptical look. 

"There you are," Sirius handed him a pair of ordinary, black shoes, "I rarely wore them, they are like new. Try them on, might need to squeeze them a little bit to fit you better." 

Harry obediently put them on, scowling at the unusual tightness around his skin and waved his wand to change their size. "Thank you." 

"You are prohibited from using magic from now on, Harry," the headmaster told him, as they walked out of the house and onto the street. "As an illegal adult you may perform magic only during the school term. During summer it is best to rest and let your magical core adjust to your growing body. You may leave your wand with me or Sirius." 

"No, sir, I would not part with it," Harry said firmly, shaking his head and clutching his wand closely to his chest. "I understand the rules and I have no intention of breaking them, but my wand stays with me." 

Furrowing his brow at the boy's stubbornness, Dumbledore heaved a sigh, "Alright. I understand that you are still scared. But I am warning you, Harry, if you would use your magic against your relatives, it will not be me, who would take your wand away, but the Ministry of Magic. They will break it and would arrest you for the abuse of magic and its disclosure in front of muggles."

"Don't they know where I am staying, sir?" Were these people acting against their own government? Harry grew more and more suspicious of them. 

"They know that you would be hidden, but do not know where exactly, for your safety's sake," Sirius explained, "There are Death Eaters working at the Ministry, they would surely look for any kind of information about you. I have stolen your mother's records already, but we shouldn't take any risks." He patted Harry on the shoulder, "Go now. We will meet soon, when headmaster finds a more suitable place for you. Be a good boy, Harry," he winked at him and vanished into the thin air. 

xxx

A moment later Harry found himself swaying on his wobbly legs in front of the most atrociously plain, ordinary house he had ever seen. He thought he couldn't have known, he had no images in his memory to compare it to, but the notion was too strong to be ignored. Dumbledore held him gently by the shoulders while he found his balance and exhaled loudly, nauseated by the unusual way of traveling. 

"Your trauma was rather severe," the wizard murmured thoughtfully, examining Harry's head and unfocused eyes. "I don't have anything with me but a simple potion for the headache. It should suffice for now, but I would send you a few vials of nutritious and cell-regenerating potions later," he held out a small vial with green liquid inside. 

Harry took it and smelled the contents - finding nothing suspicious in a concoction he thought he could brew himself, even blindfolded, he gulped it down and instantly felt much better. "I am fine now, thank you, sir."

"You seem to be versed in potions," Dumbledore noted absentmindedly, as he pushed the low, white gates open and confidently strode towards the front door. "Now, I will have to transform your robe into something less obvious, for your relatives are not of a high opinion of a wizarding fashion," he chuckled and tapped his wand on Harry's shoulder - his black woolen robe transformed into a simple coat with buttons. "That's better," the wizard praised and rang the bell.

The door opened very slowly and a tall, thin woman peeked from behind it. She looked nothing like the red haired witch in the photograph, his mother, and Harry doubted for a moment that this person could be of any relation to him. 

"Oh goodness, he looks like Lily!" the woman gasped and covered her mouth with her weak hand, staring at him as if she had seen a ghost. "Come, come inside before anybody saw you!" she urged them, stepping away and letting them in. 

Harry walked down the narrow, impossibly clean hall and watched the countless framed photographs showed off on the walls, as if somebody could have ever taken any pride in such a display. He twisted his lips in disdain at the images of a fat man and an equally fat boy, dressed plainly, sitting in various public places, surrounded by the similarly looking plain people. 

"Muggles," he hissed, disgusted, and followed after his supposed aunt into the living room. His eyebrows shot up on their own accord it seemed, at the sight of bright blue wallpaper, horrid puffy, plush furniture and white knitted napkins, that covered every surface around, even the fireplace's mantel. The hearth was so small, it was impossible to floo through it. 

"Petunia, this is Harry," Dumbledore introduced them, "Harry, this is Petunia. And these must be your uncle and cousin, Vernon and Dudley," he turned to the deafening sound of stomping down the stairs, that creaked dangerously. 

"Dudley?" Harry sneered sarcastically at the ridiculous name. Dudley Dursley - it sounded a lot like a name for a cheap comedy novel. 

The two men he had seen in the photographs stumbled inside and stuck in the doorway, as they simultaneously tried to enter. After a few seconds of humphing and oohing, red like tomatoes, they finally came to stand by Petunia. Dudley tried to hide behind her, it seemed, and was failing miserably, while Vernon stepped forward and scowled at both Harry and Dumbledore. 

"I am still against letting this freak into our house!" His moustache trembled slightly as he spoke and Harry couldn't help but stare at it in wondrous amusement. 

"As I have already told you yesterday, Mr Dursley," Dumbledore said kindly, smiling his grandfatherly smile at the huge walrus of a man, "Harry is a very good boy, it is a shame he had gotten into such a horrible accident and can't remember anything, even where has he spent his whole life. We are looking for an alternative place for him to live at, but for now it would be best if the boy stayed with you. I understand that it is impossible to form any kind of love after not seeing Harry for so long, but in his condition only his family can help him. Who else but you can care for him better than anybody else?" 

Marveling how artfully the old wizard flattered and lied Harry bowed slightly before his supposed relatives. "It is a pleasure to meet you all and I am very grateful to you for accepting me. I regret to be such a burden for you, I will pay you back as much as I can." 

"You bloody well will pay us back!" Vernon hissed, however, his anger had subsided a little at the boy's respectfulness towards him. "Your kind isn't welcome here, so if I see any of your mates-"

"No, no, Mr Dursley, do not worry," Dumbledore hurried to assure him, "Harry must be isolated from the magical world, he wouldn't be seeing anybody while he lives with you, nor would he exchange correspondence. The only condition is that Harry cannot leave your property - I have explained my reasons to Mrs Dursley and I am sure she understands." At his inquiring glance Petunia nodded her head awkwardly and rather nervously and rubbed on her throat in discomfort. 

"Yeah, I didn't get it, who is after him?" Vernon crossed his arms over his chest - as much as his fat let him - and jerked his head in Harry's direction.

"A dark wizard, the one who killed both James and Lily Potter fourteen years ago. He doesn't know that Lily had a sister, nor there are any documents of Lily's left anywhere for him to discover - you are absolutely safe from him as long as Harry doesn't cross the border of the wards, that we have placed around your house." 

"And why does he want the boy? He doesn't look like he is anything, really?" Vernon gave him a look over and Harry pursed his lips to restrain himself from replying harshly. 

If only the idiot knew how actually powerful he was, he would have been cringing at his feet and begging for mercy. No, he had to pull himself together and control his temper. It wouldn't do to get arrested by the Ministry - the third party in this mess that was his life.

"His motives are rather vague and unpredictable," the headmaster lied smoothly, "Harry is the last Potter, he is from a very famous, old family of light wizards who always fought the dark and more than once ruined this wizard's plans. I believe it is purely out of vengeance he is seeking Harry." 

"Sick freaks, the lot of them!" Vernon huffed, looking at Petunia and pointing his thumb at their guests. "He won't be doing any of his freakish stuff, will he?" he asked Dumbledore with a threat hidden in the undertone of his voice.

"No, no, Mr Dursley, Harry would not be performing any kind of magic, I have prohibited him that," the old wizard smiled indulgently. "All that Harry needs is just a room and a meal three times a day. Here is the money I promised you." He pulled a thick envelope out of his robe and handed it over to Vernon, who instantly snatched it and tore it open to count the banknotes. 

So this wasn't an act of kindness, this was a bloody deal. They were paid to house him. Harry bit on the inside of his cheek, trying to hide his anger. Dumbledore should have just spelled them to obey, Imperio them, but he was just too soft for that, wasn't he? It was easier to pay them off. Whose money it was, he wondered. If Potters, as he said, were an old and famous family, they should have had a lot of money, which, logically, should have belonged to him now. 

Creasing his brow Harry thought back on Imperio Curse and considered if he could use it. Unforgivables were illegal, that much he remembered, however, he never asked how was the Ministry going to find out that he used magic at all? Perhaps, he would be able to fool them after all...

"Now, I hope we have cleared everything up. I shall be going then," Dumbledore said cheerfully, bowing to the Dursleys. He walked into the hall and Harry followed him to the door. "Do not worry, Harry, I will contact you soon and will send you the potions. Be a good boy and if you have any questions or problems - there will be Aurors outside the property, guarding you. They will help, but do not abuse their kindness, alright?" 

"Yes, sir," Harry dutifully nodded, inwardly scoffing at the notion. These guards would be the last people in the world he would ever ask for help. As if he was so stupid to not see through the old man's plot. They were not watching out for the Dark Lord, they were watching him, Harry, were spying on him and waiting for him to slip, to make a mistake. Do not trust anybody but yourself, do not rely on anybody but yourself. This was a lesson he had learnt by heart. 

After Dumbledore vanished out of sight, Harry shut the door behind him and slowly walked back into the room and leaned against the doorframe, watching the three Dursleys whisper vehemently between themselves. They were counting the money - the money he was certain was his. He cleared his throat rather loudly and the three of them turned sharply at the sound.

"Now, freak, whatever you got into that head of yours-"

"Please, Mr Dursley," Harry raised his hands in a placating gesture and smirked when they all shuddered fearfully at the unexpected movement. "Spare me of your welcoming speech. Firstly, I have a name. It is Harry. Not freak, not you, not boy, just Harry. Secondly, I have no desire to reunite with the lovely family of yours," he wrinkled his nose and arched his eyebrows imperiously. "So I suggest we simply avoid each other. I will be sitting in my room, quiet and invisible to you all, you may leave food on the table after you are finished with your meals - I will serve myself without disturbing your appetite. Indicate which bathroom should I use and I will simply adjust to your timetable for you to never see me there. How does the plan sound to you?" 

"It is a perfect plan!" Petunia exclaimed, relieved that Harry had offered it personally.

"Who do you think you are, to order us around?" Vernon shouted, puffing his huge chest forward. "I will decide what and when will you do!"

"Wasn't it enough in the envelope?" Harry sneered, twisting his lips in an ugly smile. "Can't you just go on with your lives and ignore me? I would very much appreciate that. As for who I am..." He raised his wand and pointed it into the fat, purple face that instantly turned green in colour at the sight of it. "I am a wizard, sir. Perhaps, my brain had undergone a severe trauma, perhaps, I do not remember myself and my past, but magic, my magic is in my blood, like greed is in yours. I remember how to curse very well. Would you like to see?" At Vernon's fearful shake of a head he stretched his lips in a strained smile, "Thought so." 

"That old man said you can't use magic here!" Dudley cried, for the first time addressing Harry. His voice was just as atrocious as the boy himself was. 

"He said great many things," he replied nonchalantly, twirling the wand in his fingers playfully, "I wouldn't have listened if I were you." 

"Let me show you your room!" Petunia hastily stepped forward, trembling all over, trying to shield her men with her weak body.

"Please, Mrs Dursley, be so kind," he let her pass and followed her, having had thrown a warning glare at the two whales behind him. 

"This used to be Dudley's second bedroom, I didn't have the time to clean it thoroughly..." She led him into a very small, narrow room, cramped with broken toys, torn and tattered books and strange muggle contraptions which Harry had no idea how to use. There was an old, steel framed bed with a thin coat and old sheets over it, an old desk and a chair, with one of its legs broken and fixed clumsily with some sort of a tape. 

"Is it a muggle tradition to give their children two bedrooms? Is this second one some kind of a punishing one? Where you lock a child up and torture him with such an environment?" He looked up at her curiously. 

Staring at him as if he was a mad man Petunia shook her head, "No. It's just a room. Have you never seen anything normal? And what does this muggle word means? Is it some kind of a dirty word?" she huffed, affronted. 

The woman grew confident now that she saw he wasn't that dangerous after all. Frowning Harry hid his wand in his sleeve. "Muggle is a term, that describes people who don't have magic in their blood, that is all. It is a scientific term, so do not get offended. As for my past living arrangements - I don't remember where I spent my life, however, my organism and body have their own memory, one you could call a habit. I know how to use bathroom, how to make bed, how to use utensils - I have the basic knowledge of a life in a household. However, judging by how completely ignorant I am of all these," he waved his hand in the direction of the garbage that covered the floor of the room, "I can conclude that no, my household wasn't muggle, far from it. What was that strange black box in your living room, next to the fireplace?" 

"It's a telly. Television," Petunia mumbled, watching him as if he was an exotic animal, not a human being.

"No, I have never even heard of the term. I never lived in a muggle environment before," Harry sighed, lifting his shoulders up. He didn't really care, he wasn't going to suddenly assimilate and adopt their ways. He intended to go back home, wherever it was. "Fine, if you don't need any of these, I will get rid of them."

"We don't," Petunia shook her head, still watching him intently. At his questioningly raised eyebrows she lowered her gaze, clutching on her upper arms nervously. "I haven't seen my sister for almost sixteen years, the last I saw of her was when you were born, she visited our mother to show you to her. You look so much like Lily... We were never close, in fact, I hated her and still do. But seeing you now, knowing that she's gone... It makes me sad." 

Well, at least somebody had something akin to family feelings towards him here. Not that he needed them, of course, still it was promising to hear such a confession from the woman. "I understand. I don't remember her at all, never did, I suppose, since I was too young when she died. But thank you for your kind words, I am sure she would have appreciated your concern for my well being." 

Nodding her head Petunia turned to leave, "We dine at eight, I will leave a plate around nine, when they will be busy watching telly. You may come down then." She shut the door behind her and Harry listened in to her light footsteps. 

Hatred. Of course she hated her sister for being a witch, for being superior. This was all these muggles were good for - they only envied and hated and destroyed what they couldn't obtain for themselves. He sat down on the edge of the bed, frowning in displeasure at how hard and uncomfortable it was - he was used to comfort, to a completely different environment. The more and more he learned about his habits and preferences, the more he was inclined to believe that he had led a very rich and pleasant life in his past, had been treated better, perhaps, even loved. Sighing Harry lay back on the cot and stared at the cracked, yellowed ceiling above him, twirling the golden locket between his fingers. He was desperate to find out everything about himself and his past, for he didn't know who he really was. He was a wizard, a Potter, but what did it entail?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III. A dream within a dream.

He sat at the table, paging lazily through the Daily Prophet issue and wondering when were these idiots ever going to learn. They were considering to start negotiations with a muggle prime-minister and establish a close partnership with the royal family. Didn't they have any kind of self-preservation? Rolling his eyes in exasperation and ire, he threw the paper down on the floor carelessly and picked up his fork. As the boy was slowly growing up he had to, after Daedalus had hinted about it more than once, open another room in the manor for the two of them to dine like a proper family would, although he never planned to have a family, for the whole concept seemed rather overrated, pointless to him. And Harry was being late again. Growling lowly to himself in annoyance Voldemort sipped on his wine, uncertain if he was angry because of the news or because of the boy's tardiness. 

"Master Harry, you need to eat, you will feel better after you eat my soup!" Daedalus cried, dragging the struggling five year old behind him into the dining room. Harry was fighting for his freedom and whining.

"No, no! I don't want to eat! My belly hurts!" 

"You must eat, master!" the old elf pressed, grabbing a better hold of the child and forcing him onto the chair.

"No! I don't want to!" Harry wailed and the glass shuttered in Voldemort's hand under the wave of the boy's accidental magic. 

"Enough!" The deafening rumble made them both fall silent and cringe under the heavy glare of the blood red eyes. "What is the matter? Why aren't you eating?" Voldemort towered over Harry's small form, having had suddenly apparated from one end of the room to another. "What is it?" he barked, angry and tired - he had been working for the whole day and his temper got the better of him. 

Harry clutched on his forehead sharply and let out a weak cry of pain, as the blood floated down his face out of his scar again. "Hurts!" the boy cried, staring fearfully at the scary man, whose name he still didn't know. He called him master, just like Daedalus did. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head Voldemort groaned exhaustedly and took the boy into his arms and pressed his lips against the bleeding wound, licking on it lightly as he usually did. Harry calmed down almost immediately and relaxed in his hold, circling his small arms around his neck, tangling his tiny fists in his long hair. 

"Well, what happened?" he asked lowly, after the bleeding subsided.

"Master Harry ate a magical insect in the garden, I didn't see which one, he ran so fast! And now his stomach hurts, master!" Daedalus reported, throwing his arms in the air helplessly. Sometimes his little lord was simply incontrollable. 

"And why don't you listen to what Daedalus tells you? If you eat hot soup it will stop hurting," Voldemort drawled, looking at the child impassively. He should have let him go, but holding him in such an intimate and yet ordinary manner was so pleasant, it helped his own rage and headache dissipate gradually. 

Harry pouted, jerking his fists stubbornly, "It hurts, I can't eat when it hurts!" He looked up at the wizard, creasing his brow, and held the gaze of the red eyes unwaveringly. 

"That temper of yours," Voldemort sighed. "Daedalus, keep our plates warm, I will make a potion for Harry." He put the boy down on the floor and habitually tugged on his collar, "You, follow me. After you see what the healing potions are made of you will never ever argue with Daedalus or me again." 

He strode out into the hall and turned in the direction of the laboratory, hearing the usual quick steps of Harry's bare feet, slapping loudly against the old wooden floors - the child always obeyed him, however, he doubted it was out of fear. Not after he let the boy share a bed with him at one of the frightening, stormy nights. 

"Sit on the stool and watch me work. Remember everything that I do - in just a few years you will be making all these potions yourself. Drink this one, this is the last I have for the headache," he held out a vial and turned to arrange the working place. 

He put the cauldron over the small fire, poured water inside and lighted up the candles. There was no need to control Harry - the boy never doubted his actions and orders - he was already sitting on the working stool, leaning on the table and staring curiously at all the many boxes and glass containers, that took up a whole wall. 

Master took off his robe and hung it next to the door. Watching his every movement Harry jerked excitedly in his seat, for he was always curious about just how did the man make all of these little funny vials with bright, colourful drinks inside. They were called potions, he reminded himself, potions. His master always scolded Harry for not remembering the right name of the objects he used or for not pronouncing them properly - and Harry worked very hard to memorize everything thoroughly. When master got angry it hurt Harry badly, made his scar bleed and burn so unpleasantly... The red eyed man rolled up the sleeves of his cream white shirt, revealing long, thin, but strong arms, that looked like the were made of muscles and veins only. Harry smiled involuntarily, as he remembered how once he slept being held in them so warmly.

"This is our first ingredient," Voldemort drawled, stretching out his hand and showing the boy the small purple buds of flowers scattered over his palm. "Smell it, it is a flower called Violet." 

Harry obediently sniffed, bringing his face close to the other's hand, brushing his cheeks against the tips of the cool fingers. "Violet," he repeated slowly, pronouncing every sound clearly. 

Voldemort threw the flowers into the cauldron, stirring the water with a long ladder, made of bone. It was obvious that the boy's stomach didn't hurt as much as he showed it, for Harry stopped whining altogether, staring intently at his hands. He should have punished him for being a spoilt child, but thought better of it. Perhaps, through teaching he would make him into a decent man? Abusing the boy from such a young age wouldn't do him any good - it didn't do any good to his own self, did it? No, he wished for Harry to grow up differently. 

 

"These are the sunflower seeds," Voldemort stretched his hand again and demonstrated his next ingredient. He nodded, when Harry repeated after him, and threw the seeds into the cauldron as well.

"Is the sun a flower?" Harry looked up at his master, perplexed.

"Of course not," Voldemort snorted, arching his eyebrows at the boy. "The sunflower is called like that because its petals are just as bright yellow as the sun, and are spread around its middle like rays." 

"Oh!" Harry propped his head on his small palms, watching the man attentively. He learned so much every time they talked, it seemed as if his master knew absolutely everything, could do anything. But he could, he was a wizard after all! And Harry was going to become a wizard too, very soon. Smiling at the thought he leaned forward, when the man pulled a cutting board out of the drawer and placed it on the table next to him.

"Now, our most important ingredient," Voldemort purred, anticipating Harry's reaction. He took the small jar from one of the highest shelves and pushed it into the boy's face suddenly, startling him.

"Eww! Worms!" Harry cried, disgusted, and covered his small mouth with his both hands.

Chuckling unkindly he took a few of them out and placed them on the board. "They are not just worms, the are called Flabberworms, and they are used for all the potions that are supposed to heal us." He cut them swiftly with a long, narrow knife and added into the cauldron. 

"But I already have a bug in my belly!" Harry objected.

Shaking his head Voldemort hummed, stretching his lips slightly in mirth, "I warned you. Should have eaten the soup, but now you will have to drink this.You will think better of throwing a tantrum next time." He gave Harry a pointed look and the boy swallowed nervously, knitting his brow adorably. Voldemort added a few more herbs, showing and naming each of them for the child to memorize and stirred the already thickening concoction again. 

"It smells so bad," Harry whined, pinching his nose and blowing his plump cheeks to hold his breath. 

"All your actions have consequences, never forget that," his master told him and took the fire out. He poured the potion into several empty vials, that he had prepared beforehand, and sealed them all with his long, white wand. Harry wrinkled his nose, panting often, and pouted his lips at the sight of one of the containers being held out for him. "You said yourself that your stomach hurts, now you have to take this, otherwise I will leave you without a supper altogether."

"It doesn't really hurt anymore," he tried meekly, but the man didn't buy it, of course.

Voldemort stepped closer and crouched in front of the boy, holding the vial before him. "I have to repeat myself again, Harry, and you know how much I hate doing that. Never lie to me. I will always know, if you do."

Harry looked up at him, with his eyes opened wide in guilt and shame. His master's face was so stern, so serious, it looked so scary now. The red eyed man wasn't ugly - Harry even thought he was beautiful - he resembled those old portraits of princes and counts, that were drawn in the many books he was allowed to look into. There was just something about him that made his features seem distorted somehow and when he was angry or upset it only worsened. As if the darkness inside him was showing through and transformed him into the emotion he was experiencing. But in rare moments of contentment and peace the wizard looked very ordinary, very handsome, welcoming even, and Harry liked him that way very much. 

"I know," he mumbled, lowering his gaze, and took the potion out of the other's hand. 

"Then behave yourself," Voldemort said simply and straightened to throw his robe over. "Tomorrow I will be brewing a potion for the headache, you will watch and memorize it as well."

"Alright," Harry agreed and squeezed his eyes tightly as he gulped down the foul concoction, trying very hard not to think of the worms that were inside it. Flabberworms, he reminded himself, as he belched at the horrible taste. 

As they slowly walked back to the dining room Harry suddenly asked, "Do you have a name, master?" 

"What do you mean?" Voldemort looked down at the child, who was hastily running by his side, trying to keep up with his big steps.

"You call me Harry, it's my name. Daedalus has a name too. But master isn't really a name, is it?" He stared wondrously at the man.

"No, it is a title," Voldemort agreed. 

"Even a flower has a name, like...Violet! And a worm has one too! What is your name?" Harry asked, tugging on the man's robe excitedly. His master didn't like to be touched, but more often than not Harry found he was allowed to do it discreetly. 

He came to a halt and looked at the boy intently, wondering if he should give him anything in reply. On one hand he was Harry's master and being called by his title was very appropriate. On the other hand Harry wasn't just a follower or a servant, the boy was a keeper of his soul, a part of him, however odd the notion seemed. Being called Voldemort in private had lost its charm a very long time ago, almost everybody who knew his real name were dead and Harry wasn't going to spread the word - he could easily make sure of that. 

"You may call me Tom," he offered reluctantly, for the name was just as mundane and horrible as everything muggle, but it was his name after all. He never changed Harry's, why would he change his? 

"Tom," Harry breathed out and grinned at the man happily. "Tom!" 

He raised his eyebrows in a mild surprise at the boy's antics. Harry looked thrilled and elated and kept repeating the wretched name like a mantra, as they continued their walk. "Yes, yes, it is my name, why are you jumping like an idiot?" 

"I like it!" Harry laughed, bouncing on his toes excitedly. "I like you and your name!" he sing-sang and ran into the dinning room to climb up on his chair.

"He likes me," Voldemort muttered to himself sarcastically, "We will see how would you like me when I start punishing you with Cruciatus." 

xxx

Covered from head to toes in filthy muggle blood he strode down the hall towards his bedroom, hissing at Daedalus to stop fussing over him. The elf tried to take his ruined robes off of him and clean up his blooded footprints simultaneously, afraid that the boy might see them. 

"He is supposed to be asleep," Voldemort growled lowly and reached out for the handle to enter his bedroom. 

His hands were also wet and scarlet with blood. Perhaps, he had outdone himself this time, for the demonstration's sake. He wasn't going to let the Ministry strike a deal with the muggle government - if the slaughtering of the whole town was the price of that he didn't see why should he not use such a convenient opportunity. Muggles deserved to die, and using them to achieve his own goals was all the more satisfying. As a result Dumbledore had to obliviate the prime-minister and his office, and the Auror division had to make the whole tragedy look like a gas leak incident - Voldemort thought he could still smell the burning flesh and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

The door on his left slowly opened and a small raven haired head showed from behind it. 

"Tom?" Harry stared at him sleepily, widening his eyes at the sight of blood. To him it looked like Tom had swam in the sea of it - even his long hair was dripping wet and his usually pale face was now red and dirty. 

"Why aren't you sleeping? Do I always have to put a sleeping spell on you?" he asked snidely, scowling at the boy darkly, and pushed his door open.

"My head hurts," Harry mumbled, demonstrating a smear of blood on his small palm and on his forehead, underneath the long fringe. "What happened?" he took a tentative step forward, leaning to the wall in uncertainty and slight fear. 

"None of your bloody business!" Voldemort cut off sharply and walked inside, throwing over his shoulder, "Go to bed this instant or I will hurt you even more!" 

The door shut behind him with a deafening bang and Harry winced at the sound, pressing his fist against his mouth to not let a sob escape his trembling lips. When Tom was in a bad mood he was truly scary, even though he had never once intentionally hurt him, his harsh tone, his distorted, cruel expression and the coldness of his hard, unkind eyes upset and frightened Harry even worse. The unbearable anticipation and anxiety, that the man's wrath brought him, unnerved him greatly and made him cry in helplessness. Harry only wished to help Tom, only wished to care for him just like he cared for Harry, but all of his attempts were always for naught. Crying soundlessly and rubbing irritably on his fat, hot tears, that were streaming down his cheeks, Harry ran back into his room and threw himself onto the bed, letting his sobs dissipate in the thickness of his pillow.

"Now, now, master Harry, no need to cry," Daedalus patted him on his shaking shoulders and stroked his hair lovingly. "You know how our master dislikes disobedience. You know he worries about you and doesn't want you to see him like that. Don't you cry, young master, he didn't mean to scare you." 

"I'm not scared!" Harry muttered, but instead of sounding angry and confident he sounded absolutely miserable. "Why is he so angry all the time?" he whined pitifully. 

Sighing Daedalus cleaned the boy's forehead and hands, shaking his head sadly. Harry was only five, too young to even begin to understand his master, too young to be treated so harshly and to be burdened with such high expectations. However, he couldn't argue with the Dark Lord, not only because he was his humble servant and was bound by magic from ever betraying his master, but also because he knew very well the reasons behind the man's actions. Harry was a very special boy, thus, he had to be treated specially as well. 

“Our master's work is great and very hard, he has to control many people, to solve many difficult problems, master Harry, he is all alone and he is tired. Do not take his anger personally." 

Voldemort rolled his eyes at the sappy words, listening in through the wall, as he slowly undressed. The boy would have to get used to taking his every word, his every glare personally, he thought evilly, walking into the bathroom and stepping under the hot shower, sighing pleasantly at the calming sensation of water stroking his skin, washing off the blood of his enemies. He pressed his head against the cool tiles of the wall, closing his eyes tiredly, however, the image of the scared boy staring at him refused to leave his mind. This was ridiculous. He wasn't obliged to explain his unusual state to a damned child! 

Huffing to himself, Voldemort wrung out his hair and threw a bathrobe over his body. Rest was all he needed now, rest and peace. But as the time passed he found that his and Harry link through horcrux wasn't one-sided, he had been sensing the boy's emotions recently too. And now that he felt Harry's sorrow and crying he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep unless he did something to the other. He could, of course, occlude himself, but that was the opposite of what his exhausted mind craved for.

Swearing grudgingly under his breath he wrapped his robe tighter around himself and reluctantly walked out and into the boy's room. Harry was still crying, coiled on his side with his back turned towards the door. Daedalus kept patting him and whispering petty nonsense into his ear. 

"Clean everything up, Daedalus," Voldemort growled. 

Harry jerked at the sudden loudness of his voice, but kept stubbornly still and didn't show that he noticed his presence. When the elf hastily left, closing the door behind him, and darkness fell over the room Voldemort sighed heavily and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching the boy's back impassively. 

"Why are you crying?" 

"I'm not," Harry frowned and pursed his lips, trying to sound just as distant and uncaring as Tom was. It was the first time the wizard ever came to his room, he suddenly thought, but fought back the desire to share his discovery with the other. 

"Lying again," he shook his head in exasperation. "Turn around and look at me, Harry. I have had enough of arses to talk to today, I have no wish to communicate with yours whatsoever."

Hiding the smile that tugged on the corners of his mouth Harry rolled to lie on his back, with the hem of the covers clutched in his fists tightly. "It's dark anyway, you can't see me, what's the difference?" 

"I see very well in the darkness, and most importantly I see your eyes. I have told you before: I am not a mother or a father to you, I am not going to pet you, to satisfy your whims, it is useless to cry and pout your lips at me," Voldemort drawled, giving Harry a pointed look. 

The big emerald eyes shone so brightly in the moonlight, they looked like precious gems - he couldn't deny the fact that he liked these eyes, liked looking into them, especially when they were smiling at him, for nobody had ever done that for him sincerely, kindly, like Harry always did. 

"Why can't you be my father?" Harry asked in a small voice. 

He rarely thought of his parents, whom he couldn't remember at all, mostly when he stumbled upon the stories about families in the books, that he was allowed to read. Whenever he asked Tom about them, the man simply told him that he killed them both and never explained anything else, leaving Harry to cope with the notion that his only friend and the man he liked and feared so much made him an orphan - a word he learned from one of the books as well.

"Salazar, spare me!" Voldemort scoffed. "You already have a father, though he is dead. I will never be a parent to you, I am your master and your mentor, you know that very well." 

"Did you too... kill somebody's parents tonight?" He looked up uncertainly, meeting the two ruby spots, gleaming dimly in the darkness. It was hard to make out Tom's silhouette, but his eyes were always visible, mesmerizing, even if they looked coldly and uncaringly. 

"I did." 

He never lied to Harry and was adamant to teach the boy to be open and truthful as well - the two of them couldn't have any secrets between each other, besides, it was so pleasant and freeing to be able to speak his mind and speak the truth, however unkind it was. He loved to be free of lying, flattering, plotting and deceiving. Hiding the truth about Harry's origins and parents seemed pointless to him - the sooner the boy accepted the knowledge and moved on, the better it was for them both. He was also planning to tell him all about horcruxes as soon as the boy grew old enough to be able to comprehend and occlude such an important information. 

"Why do you kill people?" It was hard for Harry to come in terms with the idea of taking lives. Every fairy tale that he had read by now taught him it was wrong to kill other people, only very bad men and wizards, criminals did that and always got punished in the end. "Are you a bad man?" 

Smiling involuntarily at the innocent, naive question, that only Harry could ask of him, Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bedpost, watching the boy mirthfully. "I am. However, I kill enemies and traitors only, Harry, I do not make a sport out of it." 

"Who were my parents?" He knew the meaning of the words, Tom had taken a great deal of time to explain the difference to Harry during their lessons.

"Enemies."

"But if they were your enemies, I am your enemy too... Am I?" Harry asked in an even smaller voice, sinking deeper into the pillows and pulling covers up to hide himself.

He used to doubt the boy's intelligence and powers. Just three years ago he contemplated if he should waste his time at all on teaching a child that seemed absolutely hopeless and useless. However, now he felt very pleased with Harry - his little wizard was very powerful indeed, his own and Voldemort's magics combined, he was also very smart, perceptive, attentive and obedient. He was a perfect material of which a truly great warlock could be moulded eventually. No, he wasn't going to lie to himself, he did feel a little proud of what Harry had already achieved, of what they both had achieved, together. 

"No, Harry, you are not my enemy, never will be," Voldemort murmured, allowing a sincere smile stretch his lips, while the boy couldn't see it. 

"Why?" 

His heart ached pleasantly at the soft, soothing sound of Tom's suddenly calm, warm voice. Harry thought he heard him smiling and squirmed underneath the sheets, for he rarely managed to bring the wizard joy. Yet it all seemed so confusing to him, that he couldn't feel any kind of anger or loath towards Tom, even though he had killed his parents and taken him away... Tom cared for him and taught him so much... Tears poured out of his eyes again and he hastily rubbed them off with the cloth. Tom hated tears.

"At first I planned to kill you as well," Voldemort shrugged his shoulders, "But when I saw you, Harry, I knew then that you are a very special boy and that you don't deserve to die for your parents' mistakes and faults. That is why I took you in and that is why I am raising you. You are not Harry Potter anymore, you are my wizard, my Harry. It is as simple as that." 

"A special boy?" Harry breathed out in astonishment. His Harry, he was Tom's special wizard. If it was possible his heart could have jumped right out of his chest this very moment, so fast it beat, so good. 

"Yes," he smiled again and suddenly, compelled by an odd desire to do just that, cupped the boy's face with his hand, to caress the scar with the tip of his index finger, just like he did every night during all these years, visiting Harry and watching the boy sleep. "A very, very special boy. One day, very soon from now, you will grow up enough for me to explain everything to you thoroughly. You will understand in time." 

Barely breathing, frozen under Tom's rare, unique touch, Harry couldn't help but smile at the precious praise, that was so difficult to earn and was so pleasant to receive. His small palm covered the bigger one and stroked it gently, appreciatively. He could feel the long, delicate bones, the thick veins, the hard nails underneath his fingers and dearly wished he could have had this special touch every night before going to sleep. Harry thought this was what children experienced when their parents kissed them good-night or read a bedtime story to them. 

"How can you be a bad man if you are so good to me?" 

Raising his eyebrows in a mild surprise Voldemort hummed humorously to himself. "I am good only to those whom I like, Harry." 

"Do you like me?" Harry whispered shyly, involuntarily rubbing his cheek against the cool, soft skin of Tom's hand and pressing it tighter to his face, afraid to let go of it.

"I think it is quite obvious that I do, Harry, since you are here with me, alive and healthy," he drawled sarcastically. 

He had been holding the boy long enough, it was inappropriate to caress him more than necessary, more than it took to calm him down and earn his trust. But Harry kept leaning into his touch, very much like a cat would, kept stroking his hand in response, so gently and carefully for a child, that Voldemort found he didn't really want to let him go. Of course, he inwardly huffed at himself, it was only logical for his horcrux to demand physical closeness. But the genuine faithfulness and admiration, that he saw in the emerald eyes, weren't his, but Harry's own and as much as he tried to convince himself that he didn't care for the boy's feelings, he, in fact, did. He craved to see more of them, addressed to him only, he craved to be admired by the pure, untainted child, who knew the real him and never cared for his power, his darkness, his wealth. Though he despised being Tom, he found it was easy to be him with Harry, even pleasant. 

"I like you too," Harry smiled and grabbed on Tom's hand with both his small hands, squeezing it tightly between his hot fingers, and kissed the middle of the palm, "I like you very much!" 

Astonished he watched Harry kiss his palm again and again and rub his small, tear-stained face against it. The boy was already blindly faithful to him, loyal like a dog, even though he barely showed him kindness, humanity. Somehow, his clumsy, wet pecks were so much more bearable and even nice in comparison with how his Death Eaters salivated over his robes and feet and hands, that Voldemort hadn't even realized that he didn't try to jerk away from the kiss as he usually did. No, the way Harry showed his admiration wasn't disgusting and humiliating - it was natural, childish, pure and... acceptable. 

"Well," he cleared his throat and carefully pulled his hand out of the boy's hold, "If you do, then behave yourself and do not throw tantrums again. And go to sleep, you have a lot of work to do tomorrow, as do I." 

"Alright," Harry mumbled, biting on his lower lip in both joy and embarrassment. He touched Tom too much, what if he would refuse to hold Harry again? "Good night, Tom," he hurried to say, obediently closing his eyes, when the wizard stood up to leave.

"Good night, Harry," Voldemort slowly walked out of the room, frowning as he stared at his hand, that had just been covered in child's kisses. 

Should he let Harry grow up the impulsive and the sensitive man that the boy was now? Could he become the wizard he wished to see by his side, the loyal, the cunning, unaffected and indifferent towards everybody else but him, but at the same time the passionate and tender person, that was capable of compassion and understanding towards him and nobody else? Could the two souls continue their coexistence in the same harmony they were developing in now and give Harry such a complex personality? Would he be able to control the boy in that case? The more Harry grew, the less he wanted him to be an obsequious dog that most of his followers resembled, he wanted to have an independent man, the one who wouldn't be afraid to disagree with him simply because he was intelligent enough to do that and whilst disagreeing with him he would never betray him or act against his wishes. But who was it then that Harry was bound to become? His heir? Advisor? Somebody else? 

xxx

Scowling to himself and his blurry reflection in the window's glass he watched the boy play outside in the garden, seething over the notion that he was once again wasting his time on stupidly watching Harry - who was under Daedalus' perfect care and didn't need to be supervised at all - instead of working on his latest projects. And yet he found it to be impossible to step away from the window and sit down at his desk and work, while the raven haired menace was running wildly through the tall, untamed grass and screaming like a madman, scaring the birds off of their nests and giving the poor old elf a hard time catching up with him. 

The last warm days of summer brought a perfect weather to this part of the country and the usually grey grin grass was now painted an opaque golden colour in the rays of a low, evening sun. There weren't any meetings planned this week and Voldemort let Harry spend the whole day outside, anticipating to work in loneliness and silence. And yet... And yet his work lay forgotten, as his blood red eyes followed the boy's every movement. Harry had recently turned six, he had visibly grown up in the last few months, and his powers had grown as well. 

It was a strange notion, that Voldemort hated to admit even to himself, but being with Harry helped his mind stay sane and rational. After having had made his third horcrux he hopelessly expected to lose his sanity, to struggle with much worse mood swings, to have to brew sedative potions in order to keep himself in check, under control, very much like they did in the lunatic ward at St Mungo's, where the crazy cannibal hags were kept away from the society. But as the years went by he noticed that nothing had happened, he was just the same, and all the potions that he brewed were usually for Harry. He was sober, concentrated, bad tempered but not to an extreme. The horcrux' closeness, or was it Harry's closeness, he wondered absentmindedly, kept him sane and healthy. It was ridiculous that he needed the boy so much, but the more intimate they became, the better Voldemort felt. 

"More human", he snidely scoffed, twisting his lips in disdain. 

He still visited Harry every night, watched him sleep and caressed his scar, but never repeated his mistake of seeing the boy off to the Morpheus' embrace - ever since he had so foolishly done that Harry kept asking him to read to him or to sit with him on the bed. 

Rolling his eyes in ire he turned away from the window and slowly walked out of his study, immersed into the thoughts of the boy so much, he didn't notice that he had left the house, until his bare feet stepped onto the wet, soft grass and something small and hard pressed against his thigh. Lifting his gaze he met the pair of emerald eyes, that were staring at him in astonishment.

"Tom! Do you want to walk too? You never walk with me outside, oh please, please walk with me!" Harry tugged on his robe and Voldemort grudgingly followed after the child, who looked absolutely thrilled to make him walk in the sun. 

Squinting at the light he scowled at the boy, "You were screaming so loudly, I thought my ear-drums would burst." But Harry seemed to be oblivious to his grumpiness and displeasure.

"Look, look! I found Violets in the garden!" He grinned at Tom and pushed a small bouquet into his pale, veined hands. His master looked so tall and dark, sick in the golden light, very much like a vampire from the fairy tales, but Harry didn't feel as frightened as he used to. The more time they spent together the more he grew to like Tom and understand him, read his gaze and mimics. "You put them into a potion for my belly!" 

"Yes, yes, a healing potion for the stomach," Voldemort habitually corrected in his lecturing tone and hummed to himself, once again pleased with how fast and well Harry learned everything he had taught him. 

The boy kept waltzing around him happily, giggling and blabbering incomprehensible nonsense about everything that came into his view. Somehow, and he couldn't find an adequate reason for that, he didn't feel disturbed or annoyed with Harry's noisiness and inexhaustible energy. Logically, he thought, it was only right for the boy to be active and lively, it was healthy, and if he wanted him to grow up the same he needed to encourage Harry to be free and to act naturally, keep his positive attitude. Besides, he couldn't help but feel flattered by the fact that somebody could find being in his presence so pleasant and comfortable and enjoy his company so much. 

"Ah!" Harry gasped, snapping him out of his reverie, "Look! There is a butterfly on your hand!" 

Voldemort looked down and saw the insect sitting on one of his knuckles - a dull, ordinary butterfly, small and plain white. He gently covered it with his other hand and hid it in his curled palm, glancing at Harry mischievously - the boy watched him with wide, curious eyes, undoubtedly waiting for something magical to happen. 

"Do you like butterflies, Harry?" he asked lowly, as one of the corners of his mouth quivered in a suppressed smile. 

Fearfully blinking at Tom, afraid that he might crush the little insect in his palm, Harry nodded uncertainly, "Yes." 

"Think of your favourite colour now," he murmured and brought his hand close to his lips, feeling the fragile wings tremble slightly against his skin. At the boy's nod he blew into his palm and hissed a spell in parseltongue. 

Harry stared in surprise and astonishment, delight, as Tom's fingers slowly unfurled and instead of one white a hundred of bigger butterflies of a bright scarlet colour flew up in the sky, floating gracefully through the air, and surrounded him, tickling on his skin with their soft wings. Laughing he jumped excitedly and grinned at his master, feeling happiness squeezing his heart so pleasantly, he wanted to scream. 

"This is amazing, Tom!" 

Amidst the unexpectedly red butterflies Harry looked like an ordinary magical child, happy and careless, and his emerald eyes looked at Voldemort so warmly, so affectionately, that he couldn't even find enough venom in himself to set the bloody insects on fire, as he had initially planned. Whenever he wanted to hurt the boy, to make him suffer - he couldn't. He simply couldn't turn Harry into the spiteful, bitter man that he himself was... He suddenly realized that he wanted somebody who could enjoy life and be happy with him because of him, because of who he was. Could he really torture Harry and make him cry all the time and expect the boy to pretend? No, he wanted sincerity and... closeness.

"It is a simple trick, Harry, you will learn to perform it in no time," he said nonchalantly, arching his eyebrows in satisfaction when Harry's magic made him jump higher and float for a second along with the butterflies. 

The boy was very impulsive and passionate, he was going to become a dark wizard, there was no doubt about his magical affinity now. What an unexpected twist of fate, he laughed evilly to himself, that the child of the prophecy and the Savior of the world was going to be darker than the night itself, more powerful than it was possible to imagine. Yes, he would make Harry into a great warlock, the greatest of them all, and would have him by his side forever. His personal wizard, horcrux, friend... 

"Look! I'm flying, I'm flying!" Harry laughed, waving his arms around himself frantically, trying to copy after the butterflies, but soon his feet were once again firmly on the ground. Clapping his hands excitedly he circled Tom, running lightly, unable to hold still, so wonderful it felt to be surrounded by the man's magic, to feel it reaching deep inside of him and stroking him so lovingly... 

"Can you fly, Tom? Will you teach me?" 

"Of course I can fly," Voldemort huffed, "Every powerful wizard can. But you wouldn't be able to do that until a certain age. However," he added at the sight of the familiar pout of the red lips, "If you study well and behave yourself, I might give you a broom." 

"A broom?!" Harry cried and threw himself at Tom, circling his short arms around the narrow waist, pressing his chin against the flat abdomen and all but bursting with happiness, "I want a broom! I could play quidditch with a broom! This is so awesome!" 

Swaying slightly under the boy's attack and staring at him in shock Voldemort wondered what was he supposed to do now. They had never embraced each other, the limits of their physical contact were them sitting next to each other while reading, and him holding Harry, when the boy's scar bled. But coddling was out of the question. He scowled at the boy, but it was useless - the child held him tightly and kept grinning at him so hard, his cheeks turned red and his eyes shone brighter than the sun itself. Harry looked so beautiful and, no matter how hard he tried not to, Voldemort saw how grateful he was, how happy, it all confused him too much to be bearable. He put his hands down onto the small shoulders awkwardly and tried to push the boy away. 

"Yes, however, if you keep pawing me I will not give you anything and will punish you."

Upon hearing the threat Harry instantly drew away, but the smile on his lips never faltered. "I promise I will be a good boy." 

"See that you will," Voldemort stepped away as well, drawing distance between them, convincing himself that the warmth in his chest came from the summer sun and not the child's touch. Fortunately Harry was too young and his attention span was too short. He was already running around again and picking up different flowers, stones, insects and roots, showing them off and naming each and every one of them. 

Nodding his head every time the boy said the correct name Voldemort slowly followed him to the furthest corner of the vast, wild garden, that surrounded the manor - although he had never ordered Daedalus to tame it, since he never found any pleasure in walking outside, the old elf magically adjusted it for Harry to have the healthiest environment that was possible. All kinds of flowers grew amongst the tall grass, trees marked the border of the wards and hid the view of the muddy roads and empty hills around the grounds; even a small pond appeared underneath the low branches of the lonely weeping willow - Harry's favourite place for playing hide and seek. 

The air was fresh and pleasant around the manor now, it slightly turned his head and Voldemort closed his eyes, breathing deeply, enjoying the warm weather, the softness of the soil and grass underneath his feet, the lovely singing of the birds that found home in their garden. After Harry came into his life - very much like a little hurricane - everything seemed to have changed, everything have improved... He looked up when he heard another burst of laughter erupt out of the boy's chest and saw Harry run after a tiny rabbit, with his arms spread widely, as if he wanted to hug the poor animal. 

Shaking his head amusedly at the boy's loving, kind nature Voldemort wandered how would he grow up a dark wizard, what kind of a man would he turn out to be. He shuddered at the thought that Harry might become the petty excuse of a wizard like Slughorn, and wrapped his robe tighter around himself in discomfort. No, Harry would become nothing of the sort. 

"Tom! Tom! Snake!" Harry cried, running towards the man and hiding behind him, fearfully clutching on his robe. "A snake ate my rabbit!" he whined meekly, peeking from behind the wizard's tall frame that was like a rock that could protect him from any evil in the world. Oh yes, he knew that Tom would never let anybody hurt him. 

"Don't be afraid, Harry," Voldemort said softly and bent down, holding out his hand before the dark scaled serpent, that was hissing menacingly from behind the grass. "Snakes are not your enemies, they are, in fact, your friends." He smiled and hissed in parseltongue, "Come out, my friend, we would not hurt you." 

"Speaker! Master of the serpents!" The snake crawled hastily towards him and leaned against his offered palm, caressing his skin with its forked tongue.

Harry stared at the two of them dumbly and, still standing wearily behind Tom, asked uncertainly, "Do all snakes speak english? Animals talk only in fairy tales, don't they?" He didn't notice that he never spoke in english himself, however, Tom's obviously surprised look told him he said something wrong. 

The child spoke parseltongue. Perplexed Voldemort straightened up, holding the serpent in his hands and stroking it absentmindedly, and stared at Harry in wonder. How far was his horcrux going to change the boy? Could he have the very same powers that he himself had? Could he - being of a completely different bloodline, but possessing a piece of his soul - become a rightful heir to Slytherin? Could horcrux change Harry's blood altogether and make him into a Gaunt instead of a Potter? 

"We did not speak in english, Harry, we spoke in parseltongue - the language of the serpents. You have just spoken in it as well," he explained, watching the boy intently.

"I did?" Harry widened his eyes, touching his lips nervously, as if expecting a forked tongue to appear between them. "Do all wizards know pars-parseltongue?" 

"Only you and I do," Voldemort smiled despite himself and crouched before the boy, holding the snake out for him. "I never thought you would be able to speak it, but once again I underestimated you, Harry. You are a special boy, I should never forget that... Take the serpent and talk to it, and never ever be afraid of snakes again - they are your friends and are your humble servants. You are their master, just like I am." 

Seeing the rare, beautiful smile on Tom's face Harry couldn't resist but smile back and concluded that it was a good thing he could too speak to snakes. It pleased Tom, therefore he was going to do everything to make it last as long as possible. Bracing himself and stubbornly fighting his fear Harry obediently took the serpent into his small, slightly trembling hands, 

"I thought snakes are evil. Every fairy tale tells how bad and mean they are to others," he mumbled, staring into the creature's black eyes. 

"We are good to those whom we like," the snake hissed in response, moving its coils to lay comfortably in the child's hold, "I like you, little master, I will never hurt you." 

"You talk just like Tom," he shook his head, smiling. "Here is my rabbit!" he pointed at the big bulge on the snake's body.

Chuckling at the boy's naiveté Voldemort covered it with his palm, "We would not take it out, Harry."

"Alright," he sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "Don't eat my rabbits anymore, we are not enemies, you can't take what's mine," he chided the serpent, waving his finger at it, and the creature bowed its head in obedience. 

"Animals are not enemies, Harry, they are harmless," Voldemort smiled again, caressing the snake's coils, watching the child copy after him. Their hands brushed against each other, as they stroked the creature, and he laughed inwardly at how appreciative Harry grew of the creature with every touch. "Our enemies are only people: wizards and muggles." 

"Why are muggles so bad?" Harry looked up at him curiously. He was familiar with this term as well.

"They are envious, Harry, they would never accept wizards, simply because they are incapable of wielding magic, of understanding and communicating with mother nature - they are limited and ignorant, dull. But they are cunning, dangerous, they are legions, it is impossible to eliminate them all, therefore we have to hide from them, hide our powers and gifts, live separately, behind the wards. I never let you go further than the garden because of the muggle town out there. Should they discover that you are a wizard, Harry, they would kill you or, worse, enslave you and use you to their own mercantile benefits," he explained, as he rose up and slowly walked forward, watching the boy pat the snake and hastily run by his side. "There are wizards who think differently. They think that if we assimilate with muggles, that if we reveal ourselves, we would be able to live in harmony and peace all together."

"Are these wizards your enemies?" Harry asked quietly. Tom's face became a stony mask of indifference again and his red eyes grew cold and angry. Oh how Harry hated that look.

"Yes, they are. Blind fools. They have no idea what it is like to live amongst muggles. What it is like to be different, to be magical and be hated for it. They want their children to grow up shunned and despised, weak, self-conscious and cowardly. They don't understand that their descendants would become slaves to muggles. It is inadmissible, we are superior to them, we are better Harry, so much better and powerful - it is them, who are supposed to be enslaved, not us." 

After a short pause he barked out a cold, hoarse laugh, "Their history, that you would learn very soon, shows that they all were born slaves, and all of their lives are but a vicious circle of fighting and enslaving each other, only to be taken over by another in the next century... Useless, mundane creatures that they are. Animals, Harry, are so much better than muggles, mark my words." 

There was nothing that Harry could add and they walked in silence, side by side, witnessing the manor's gradual descend into evening gloom. The sun had finally set and a cool breeze brushed lowly above the ground, sending shivers up their bare feet. He involuntarily pressed closer to Tom, seeking the man's warmth. The blood red eyes lost their far away look and focused on his face.

"I think it is time to go inside and have supper, don't you agree, Harry?" The boy nodded, smiling modestly. "Let the serpent go, it has its own home to go to." 

After Harry obediently put the creature onto the ground Voldemort tugged on his shirt and pulled him in the direction of the garden doors. There never was any necessity to do that, since the boy learned very well how much he hated tardiness, laziness and clumsiness, but there was just this odd, inexplainable desire to touch Harry. It irritated him and he couldn't fight it - how was this possible was beyond his understanding either.

"Tom," Harry said quietly, as they ascended the old, dusty stairs and entered the dining room, "How do I know that muggles want to hurt me?" At the man's blank look and slightly arched eyebrows he ducked his head shyly and lifted his shoulders, "Well, I mean... There are always bad and good people, no matter if they are wizards or muggles. How do I know what are they? Am I a good or a bad... person?" 

Only six years old and already so perceptive... Voldemort tilted his head to the side, watching Harry intently. It would have been much easier to simply lie to him and tell him that everybody was his enemy but his master, that there were no good people in the world except his master... But that would have been unfair and wrong in a long run. 

"Each side picks their own heroes and villains, child. To me you are a good person, though to them you are an enemy. I wish I could give you a spell that could have told you exactly who is a friend and who is a foe, but there is none, unfortunately. To me, Harry, every person is a potential enemy, I always expect the worst from others - that way I never get disappointed or caught by surprise."

"Even from me?" Harry looked up at Tom, widening his wet, shiny eyes in fear.

"No," Voldemort sighed and pushed the boy lightly to sit on his chair, "I expect only the best from you, Harry."

"Are you a bad person? I don't think you are, you're good to me, but you hate everybody else and kill other people... How do I know if you are a hero or a villain?" He stared at Tom, who sat at the opposite side of the table, and waited for the wizard to explain. 

Harry was truly confused, he didn't understand what was Tom to him and to the world, and could he be the same to both, or was he many different things? It was so difficult to understand the scary, red eyed man, but Harry stubbornly kept trying. Tom was his only friend and, if the books were anything to judge by, friends were supposed to care for each other and understand each other... 

Voldemort smirked, laughing soundlessly at the rhetorical question. Was he a hero or a villain? He didn't know either. In his view the lines were blurred too much to draw a clear statement, to come to the right conclusion. 

"I am a very bad person, if that is what you want to hear. However, when you grow up you might change your definition of bad and good, Harry. Our life is not black and white, it is never divided into two clear notions of darkness and light. In fact, we are permanently in between. You are too young yet to realize that..." He watched the emerald eyes change their expression from fear to curiousness and concentration, thoughtfulness. Perhaps, Harry wasn't that young after all... He could very well fasten the process of his maturity. "Tomorrow, we will have a practical lesson," Voldemort said simply, rubbing on his chin in wonder, "I will show you the muggles and you will see their true nature for yourself." Yes, it was time that Harry learned how horrible and unfair the outside world was.

xxx

Scowling at the tips of his shiny shoes Harry tried to keep up with the fast, big steps of Tom's long legs, grumping under his little nose at the unusual tightness around his feet. Ever since he remembered himself he always was barefoot - it was a battle of wills between him and Daedalus every new cold season to make him put on the warm boots - since his master never wore any kind of shoes either. 

He had never given it another thought, he simply got used to sensitivity of his skin and even enjoyed the different sensations that he could experience through his bare feet. Tom never once said anything about his habit and that was a reason enough for Harry to never even consider this. Until today, when Daedalus brought him this brightly shining pair on their master's order. Knitting his brow in annoyance Harry glanced at Tom's identical, if only much bigger, shoes and wondered how could the man wear them so easily and gracefully - it took him almost ten minutes to figure out how to tie the laces... 

"If you are planning on staying here forever just say so - I have a lot of important work to do instead of wasting my time with you." He heard his master growl lowly and hurried to catch up with him, clutching fearfully on the hem of his long coat. 

Harry wanted to say that it was Tom's idea to take him out to see the muggles, but he bit on his tongue, knowing all too well that his comment would not be appreciated. They walked fast through the crowded streets of London and his tiny heart was pounding maddeningly in his ears, for the speed of the people running in all directions and the automobiles, as Tom called them, turned Harry's head - he couldn't understand how could they all survive in such a chaos.

"Where are we going? Do we have to run so fast?" he dared to whine, for his legs ached horribly. He barely noticed tall, gothic roofs of the cathedral that they have passed by, for he was still too small to be able to see through the colourful moving mass. London was an empty sound to him - all he saw were people and pavement.

Voldemort grudgingly came to a halt and stepped aside to avoid colliding with the never ending stream of pedestrians. The boy instantly leaned against his thigh, panting and staring around with wide, astonished eyes, that gleamed brightly from underneath his long, curly fringe. He looked the impeccable little lord that he was, dressed in black with only a striped slytherin scarf as a drop of colour to make his pale skin and emerald eyes stand out more. Even though every glance addressed to Harry that he caught enraged Voldemort and made him clutch tightly on his wand, hidden in his sleeve, he couldn't help but feel a little proud and vane, that his boy gained so much attention. Could his personal wizard be anything but perfect, really? 

"Please," he huffed, rolling his eyes, that were charmed to look just the same colour as Harry's, "You run around like a mad man in the garden for the whole day and Daedalus has to tie you down to make you get back inside and study, whilst here you have just covered two short streets and have already lost your breath?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue mockingly, enjoying the affronted expression on the boy's face. 

He found that, mostly, all his followers were good for was teasing and torturing and nothing else. Teasing Harry was all the more pleasant and fruitful - unlike the imbeciles that his servants were, the child learned from his every word and learned well. 

"I'm not tired!" Harry stomped his foot on the pavement. "It's just too fast, there is just too many people! They all push me around, I don't want to lose you here!" 

"That is why wizards don't usually live in the big cities," he drawled, making a show of ignoring the other's complaints. "Now, we need to keep moving if we want to get anywhere today." 

Tugging on Harry's shoulder he walked forward and slightly jerked in surprise when a small, warm hand slipped into his curled palm and held tightly on his fingers - he wanted to pull away, but rationally decided that it was indeed easier to watch after the boy, to not lose him in the crowd. Voldemort wrinkled his nose in disdain at the thought that they must have looked like a father and a son, holding hands, dressed identically, even sharing some of the similar facial features - the way the strangers smiled at them told him that much. 

"But where are we going?" Harry asked again, louder this time, running again and forgetting about the exhaustion and stretched muscles in favour of enjoying the cool, soft hand that didn't push him away and let him hold on to it tightly. 

"The market," Tom told him, "Since we are here I need to pay a visit."

Harry wanted to ask if Tom had any other friends - who else could he visit really? - but was interrupted by an oddly looking old man, who reminded him of a beggar, that was described in one of his children's books. 

"What a lovely boy ya have ‘ere, sir! Aye! Spare a couple o’ shillings for an old sailor, eh?" he winked at Harry with one of his brown eyes and held out his hand expectantly, moving slightly forward to block their way.

"Look, Harry," Voldemort peered down at the child, who was staring between him and the beggar, uncertain of what was he supposed to do, "This is the lowest sort of them muggles. They are so lazy and useless, worthless, that sometimes they prefer to ignore their duties and work altogether in favour of stealing or begging from others."

"Aye, sir, it is no good to teach yer son look down at those who wrecked on the shores o’ life, let me tell ya!" The old man screwed up his left eye and spat onto the ground to emphasize his words.

"Filthy pigs they are," Voldemort sighed theatrically, pleased to see the way Harry frowned disapprovingly at the display of the stranger's manners. "Let's spare a shilling for the poor soul, shall we?" He fished a few coins out of his inner pocket and threw them carelessly at the beggar, who caught them with a gleeful cry and waltzed away to count his prize.

"But if it his fault he is homeless and poor, why did you give him money, Tom?" Harry asked in befuddlement, staring back over his shoulder, as they continued on their way. "I thought you would punish him?"

"Who said I gave him the money, child?" Voldemort let out a cold, rasp chuckle. 

The second the words left his mouth a high pitched scream filled the air, scaring everybody off of the road and Harry gasped, widening his eyes at the sight of the beggar rolling on the ground and wailing in pain and horror, as countless black beetles covered his face and hands, eating away his flesh. 

"Scarabs!" he exclaimed, covering his mouth with his free hand and turning hastily away from the horrible display. "Will he die?" he breathed out when they were far away and the sound of the screams dissipated in the noise of the streets.

"That, my boy, depends on the kind and loving nature of his brothers and sisters, who stand there now and watch him suffer. Either somebody would safe him, or he would die right in front of them and they would simply go on with their petty, boring lives, bearing this incident in their memory as one of the most exciting events that they have attended in years. I have read plenty of muggle minds, Harry, I know how they think," Voldemort said quietly, furrowing his brow as the unpleasant visions of his past wormed their way into his consciousness, having had been buried away for far too long. 

Frowning Harry kept silent, pondering over Tom's words. Of course his master and friend should have known better, being so much older and wiser. Harry believed everything Tom told him, he really did, but he was frightened of how cruel and angry Tom sometimes was towards others, even in his speech he was so unpleasant and venomous in his opinions, Harry felt uncomfortable and sad. It upset him that the wizard was so hateful. However, he did treat him, Harry, differently and that was the most intricate riddle in the world. Why was Tom so kind to him, why did he like him so much when he often said that he hated children? The notion that he was so special made Harry smile shyly and squirm on the inside. Perhaps, he would one day manage to change his friend and teach him to be kind, just like Tom taught him to be smart? 

He didn't notice how they have suddenly appeared to be surrounded by the shops, open boxes and tables, that were crumbling under the weight of the huge pieces of meat. Meat, fish, vegetables, alcohol, books, clothes, herbs, toys, wheels and tires - Harry thought his eyes would burst out of their sockets so wide they were open, so fast they were darting from one side to another, trying to see everything. The bluish smoke floated above their heads, adding a smell of burnt paper to the already overwhelming, nauseating stink of rotting fish and oils. 

People shouted around them, bargaining and cursing each other for the reasons unknown. Harry squeezed Tom's hand tighter, trying to walk as close to him as possible - he had never been to any kind of a market before, let alone a muggle one, and the place seemed to be a dangerous labyrinth from a nightmare. Even people here looked odd, unpleasant, precarious. 

After many turns and illogical zigzags they have finally reached a small square, free of any shops with only a few slides and benches for children to be left at while their parents shopped. 

"Stay here for a few minutes," Voldemort murmured, leading Harry to sit on one of the benches, "I will be behind that red door. There is a magical shop there, I will buy what I need and come back for you."

"Can't I go with you? I've never been to any shop before," Harry asked, reluctantly letting go of the other's hand.

"No, this one is not suitable for children," he shook his head. "I will let you come into the next one, when we are done. Wait here." He walked away not looking back, knowing very well that the boy would not go after him, nor would he leave the square.

Harry obediently sat down, swaying his legs absentmindedly, as he kept staring around. It all seemed so wild and weird to him, so unusual and disturbing - the way muggles ran there and back, talked loudly, exchanged things, and didn't seem to mind the chaos around them. Most of all Harry was unnerved by the notion that he hadn't seen the same face twice yet - whenever he looked there was already a different person in the place of the previous one. How could so many people fit into such a small space, he wondered, for the whole market was hardly bigger than their garden. Was it some sort of magic as well?

"Why are you all dressed in black?" He heard somebody ask him and turned his head to meet the sight of a girl. She was around his age, dressed in bright blue and pink dress, with a white coat on, her blond pigtails trembled funnily every time she tilted her head to take a better look at him. Her face was round and red from running, but she looked nice, welcoming.

"As a lord I'm supposed to be dressed like that," Harry mumbled in response, repeating Daedalus' words. 

"A lord?" she giggled into her tiny hand, smiling at him, "Will you become a prince when you grow up?"

"No," he smiled tentatively back, "I'm not a muggle, we don't have royal family to rule us."

"What's a muggle?" The girl plunged next to him, staring at him expectantly. "Where are you from then?"

"I'm from England," Harry gave her a dumb look. "Muggles are those who don't have magic."

"Magic? Do you have magic?" she leaned closer, watching him with interest and excitement.

Smiling and feeling suddenly very special and superior he nodded his head, "Yes, I am a wizard."

Voldemort stood not very far from the two children, listening carefully to their conversation. It was just like Harry to tell the very first person he met that he was a wizard, however, he found it to be a very convenient opportunity to demonstrate to the child how deceitful and horrible muggles really were. 

"Prove it!" the girl exclaimed and he smiled evilly to himself.

Harry frowned, thinking of a way he could prove his words. He didn't know how to do magic yet, Tom told him it was too early for him to learn spells, but he knew he could do different things when he really wanted to. Harry picked up a leaf, that had fallen from a tree and showed it to her, "I will turn the leaf into a coin," he said firmly and squeezed his eyes shut, asking his magic to do the trick. Straining his every muscle he chanted, please please please...

"Ah! You did it!" the girl cried and Harry opened his eyes sharply only to stare at the whole pound lying innocently on his palm. "This is so cool!" She clapped her hands and took the coin to inspect it more thoroughly. "This is real! Do more, more!" 

"What the two of you are doing here? Have you found yourself a friend, honey?" A tall, middle-aged man came up to them and patted the girl's head, looking at Harry impassively, but with a kind smile stretching his lips underneath his moustache. He wore big, heavy glasses, his thinning fair hair was short and stuck out in all directions. Harry thought the man looked nice, harmless.

"This boy is a real wizard, daddy! He just turned a leaf into a coin!" the girl shouted, pushing the pound into her father's face. 

"Oh, is he? I wonder how has he done it?" The man chuckled, shaking his head at his daughter's naiveté. "Well, lad, show us your magic trick?" he addressed Harry, crouching before the children and smiling all the while.

"Alright," Harry brightened up, flattered to have an audience, "But it's not a trick!" He took three more leafs into his hands and stretched them out so that they could see what was he going to do very clearly.

"Of course it's not," the man laughed sympathetically. 

Voldemort laughed too, coldly and menacingly, as he once again twisted his wrist to the side and made the leaves in the boy's hands turn into pounds.

Blinking dumbly at Harry, with a smile suddenly gone from his face, the girl's father carefully took the coins into his hands and examined them very closely. "These are real. How is this possible?" He looked up at Harry, who was grinning at him happily, blushing and trembling in satisfaction. He never impressed anybody so much before, Tom was absolutely impossible to impress and he praised Harry so rarely... "Can you turn these into coins too?" the man suddenly asked and pushed a few small stones into his hands.

"I think so," Harry shrugged his shoulders and scowled at the stones, that instantly transformed into coins.

"Fuuuck meeee," the man whispered breathlessly, staring wildly at the money in the child's hands. "T-take these, can you d-duplicate them?" He hastily took a few coins and banknotes out of his pocket and gave them to Harry, looking around to make sure nobody saw what was going on. 

"I can try," Harry mumbled uncertainly, looking up at the girl, who was only grinning at him and staring at his hands in wonder. He brought his palms full of money close to his mouth and blew on them, thinking back on how Tom turned one butterfly into many different ones. 

Humming mirthfully at the display Voldemort flickered his fingers twice. The man gasped, as more, much more money fell out of the boy's hands, and out of his pockets and out of the girl's pockets as well.

"You, b-boy, what is your name?" he grabbed Harry by the shoulders harshly.

"Harry," he said, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. The gleam in the man's dull green eyes disturbed him, it didn't look kind anymore. Harry suddenly realized he didn't want to talk to him any more either, and frantically looked around in the search of Tom.

"Where are your parents, Harry? Are you waiting for them?" the man asked somewhat warily and disappointed at the same time, however he kept squeezing his shoulders to the point when it became painful.

"No, I don't have parents," Harry frowned, trying to get away from the unpleasant touch, "Please, let me go, you're hurting me," he whined.

"Come with me, Harry, do you want to come with Ammy? You could become her brother," he smiled maddeningly, grabbing Harry by the hands and pulling him off of the bench. "Come with us, you could show us more of your magic at home!" 

"No, no, I don't want to," Harry tried to break free, but the man's hand held his wrist as tight as an iron vice, he was being dragged harshly into the street, while the girl kept waltzing around him, singing that she got herself a little brother at the market. "No! Let me go!" Harry cried meekly, but it was fruitless. They were quickly running down the empty, narrow street and there was nobody here to help him. "Tooom," he whined inaudibly, as the tears burst out of his eyes. How could he be so stupid? These were muggles, hadn't Tom warned him to never trust them? Hadn't his friend told him how dangerous they were? How greedy? 

"Shut up!" the girl's father barked at him, pulling him harshly forward. "Be quiet!" 

"And where do you think you are taking my boy?" Voldemort drawled, showing himself from behind the corner and startling the man into a sudden halt. 

"Tom!" Harry screamed and tore his hand out of the other's hold and ran towards his master to press into his frame and circle his arms around his waist. "Tom! I'm sorry! I should have listened to you! You were right!" 

"I believe Harry was very clear, when he refused to go with you, don't you agree?" He sneered, placing his hand onto the child's back possessively.

The man stared at him, into his blood red eyes, defiantly, "Who the Hell are you? He said he doesn't have parents! I found him and I am taking him to the police station!" 

"The one that is in the opposite direction? Or the one that is fifty miles from here?" Voldemort scoffed, arching his eyebrows skeptically. "How very noble of you, and here I thought you were taking him to your house, to put him into the basement and make him turn all your garbage into money. Or, perhaps, you planned to share with your friends? Neighbours? No? You are right, of course, it is better to keep your goldmine a secret," he nodded his head thoughtfully, mocking the other. 

"Who the fuck are you?" the man growled, though he was obviously confused - his very own thought had just been repeated aloud after him. 

"I am Harry's master and mentor," Voldemort said nonchalantly, looking down at the boy, who was crying into his jacket and watching him gratefully, shamefully. "He is too young yet to know how to handle you, muggles. But he will learn soon." 

"Listen, we could share, you know," the other said, propping his glasses and taking on a business like tone. "I won't tell anybody about him and you will give me a few thousands a week for that, how's that? He can make so much more for you." 

"This is what I hate about your kind," Voldemort sighed tiredly, twisting his lips in disdain, "That the only use you see in magic is your own gain. You haven't even questioned his other abilities, haven't even had that mundane, cliché idea that he might be able to find a cure for a cancer or some other idiotic infection you, muggles, fight so fruitlessly. Just like dragons all you can think of is gold, money, wealth... Sometimes I think greed is indeed a curse, worse than any infection or tumor," Voldemort shook his head in disappointment and glared at the man. "I do not share." 

"You must be ugly rich already with this boy! This isn't fair!" he cried, waving his arms and taking a threatening step closer.

"How hypocritical of you," Voldemort smiled viciously and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the other impassively. "I do not use Harry, I raise him and teach him." Seeing that the man took another step towards him, he raised his eyebrows, "And just what would you do? I am genuinely curious," Voldemort laughed in his usual hissing manner, that always sent shivers down everybody's spines. 

"I will take him from you!" the man barked, pulling his sleeves up and taking a fighting stance.

"Oh, impressive!" 

Harry looked back and jerked at the sensation of Tom's magic flaring, surrounding him as a warm protective cocoon. However, the man didn't get any closer - he stood frozen, and only his frantically rolling eyes were any indication of how hard he tried to move. 

"You see," Voldemort drawled lazily, "We are both wizards, and I have no need for money, let alone child's labour. I brought Harry here to show him exactly how despicable you muggles are, how selfish and filthy." He looked at the girl, who was quietly weeping and tugging on her father's clothes helplessly, trying to make him move. "Should I take your child, just like you took mine? Should I put her into my basement and use her like a slave, though, she is just as dull and useless as a stick. Perhaps, we should simply kill her and make a soup out of her, and make her insides into potion ingredients, hmm?" 

"No, no, Tom, please, don't hurt her, she is just a little girl!" Harry begged, tightening his hold around the man.

"They must learn their lesson just as you must learn yours," Voldemort gritted lowly through his teeth, furrowing his brow and peering at the boy, waiting for him to say the right words, to draw the right conclusion out of the situation.

"I was wrong," Harry sobbed, looking him straight in the eyes, "Forgive me! You were right, muggles are very dangerous! I should have never told them that I am a wizard, I must keep it a secret and never show them magic! I will never do that again, I swear!" 

"Good, very good," he smirked and waved his hand dismissively to let the man free. "Now, let's continue with our little tour. Though you do not deserve it, I will take you to a proper shop today," he laid his hand onto Harry's shoulder and steered him away and down the street. 

All that Harry could do was look back and swallow harshly at the sight of the man and his daughter scream soundlessly as they tried to shake the poisonous snakes off of themselves - the money that Harry had made for them from leaves and stones turned into reptiles in their pockets. They got punished after all. 

"Never regret a muggle's life, Harry," Tom told him. "They are legions and not even plagues and endless wars can eliminate them all. Do not mourn the girl - she would have grown up just as greedy and filthy as her father. She would have used you just the same, never believe the innocent faces and kind smiles, especially those of children." They turned into the gates of an empty courtyard and Tom took Harry's hand in his and apparated them both away. 

xxx

They landed in front of a closed old pub with a tattered sign "The Leaky Cauldron" hanging in its dusty window. Harry looked up at the wizard, whose eyes were once again bright emerald in colour, and entered at his expectant nod. He instantly knew it was a magical place and all the people around him were real witches and wizards. Breathless under the sheer magnificence of the concentration of many different magics in such a small space Harry swayed on his feet, but Tom was behind him, and instead of falling he simply leaned back against his legs.

"Move, Harry, the less people would notice us the better," Voldemort hissed in parseltongue and pushed the boy forward, towards the fireplace, that was situated slightly to the side from the main dining area, secluded from the prying eyes. He took his own flooing powder from his inner pocket and measured a little off into Harry's palm. 

"Since we are here I will teach you to floo. Flooing is another way a wizard is able to travel, through a specifically designed fireplace network. It is easier than apparition, though it has its own inconvenient limits. Now, throw the powder into the flame, after it turns green in colour step inside it and pronounce the name of your destination loudly and clearly. You are going to the Knock-turn Al-ley."

Nodding his head and biting on his lower lip in concentration and nervousness Harry obediently followed the instructions. He squeezed his eyes shut when he forced himself to step inside the roaring green fire, however, it never hurt. "Knockturn Alley!" he exclaimed and was instantly whisked away in a fast and head turning tornado. A second later he fell out of a hearth and onto a dusty, wooden floor his face flat against the surface. 

"We will have to work on your landing techniques," Tom drawled over his ear and pulled him up by his collar and scarf. 

Sneezing and rubbing on his itching nose Harry looked around, widening his eyes in wonder and instantly forgetting about the unpleasant incident with the muggles - this was a real magical shop! Full of most mysterious and alluring objects and contraptions, with rows of cases, cramped with old, dark books - it looked like a treasure cave to him. Excited Harry hastily darted towards the display of shiny jewelry, staring at it in astonishment. 

"You may look, but don't touch anything, otherwise you will get cursed and I would not help you," Voldemort muttered menacingly to make the boy realize how dangerous the place was. Seeing that Harry understood him, by having had hidden his tiny hands behind his back, he turned away and walked over to the desk.

How he wished to touch... anything! It was a real torture to keep his fingers twisted tightly between each other, but Harry knew better than to disobey Tom's direct order. The wizard never joked about the danger of the dark magic, which all but oozed out of every crack in this place, stuffing the air and intensifying gloom inside, even though the September sun was shining brightly outside, behind the dirty windows, that used to be covered in black paint that was later scrubbed off rather clumsily. 

"Oh, what do we have here?" An old, ugly witch in a tall, pointed hat suddenly appeared behind him and Harry jerked harshly, spinning on his heels and bumping his back against an old bureau. 

"What a sweetie!" the other almost identically looking woman joined her, crooning in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Oh, just look at those round cheeks and those marvelous red lips! And the eyes! Ah, but he is a perfect little lord!"

"Yeeesss, and a dark one as well!" the first witch agreed, pointing her finger at his scar, that Harry instantly covered with his palm, afraid she might touch it. Only Tom had the right to do that - that was what Harry had decided for himself long ago - only his master could touch him and his scar, since he liked it so much and always made the blood and pain go away from it. "What a pity he's a pureblood, I am sure he tastes just as sweet as he looks!" She shook her head disappointedly and Harry gulped nervously, stumbling backwards, away from the terrifying hags. He never really liked the tale of Hanzel and Gretel, for the cannibal witch frightened him, and meeting two of them in the real life was far too much for him! 

"Where are you going, darling? No, no, stay with us a little longer, let us at least smell you," the other witch smiled at him evilly, baring her yellow, crooked teeth, black at their roots, and grabbed him by the arm. Despite her deceivingly old and weak appearance she appeared to be very strong, painfully strong. 

"Let me go!" Harry scowled at the two women, struggling to get away.

Voldemort waited at the desk, holding the leather box he had been looking for in his hands, and was slowly losing his patience. It was just like Burke to never be present at his own shop, with no assistant to replace him. Nothing really changed in this world, people didn't really change either, not the ones like his first and last employer, certainly.

"Yes, yes, 'm coming," the old, bald wizard limped from behind a tattered curtain of the back-room and tiredly leaned against the desk. "Well, what d' you want?" he barked, not even sparing him a glance, but staring into his half empty cup of grappa instead. Filthy drunkard.

"This," Voldemort threw the box carelessly before him, twisting his lips in anger and disdain, fisting his hands to not let his temper fly. 

"Oi, you know this one is expensive and very dangerous, don't ya?" Burke looked up, squinting his left eye, withered in colour, and suddenly dropped his cup at the sight of the man in front of him. "D-d-dark L-lord..." he panted breathlessly, "W-w-what an honour!" Of course the idiot didn't remember him as his young assistant Tom, whom he hired almost fifty years ago - he had changed a lot, his face had transformed and his eyes were still charmed green, instead of his natural vibrant blue. However, Burke knew him as the Dark Lord now, as everybody else did. 

"Shut up and pack it," Voldemort spat acidly, "I don't have time for this." 

Fearfully nodding his head Burke hurried to do as he was ordered. It was rather satisfying to see the man cringe and shake under his gaze, since the bastard used to treat him like dirt in his youth, worse, like a mudblood. How many times he had dreamed of killing him, or torturing him with Cruciatus for hours... But now he was much older, much wiser. Now he knew the importance of patience and self-discipline, the price of hotheadedness and impulsiveness. No, he wasn't going to give in to temptation, wasn't going to let his emotions control his actions. He had an example to set for the little, raven haired ward of his...

"Let me go!" He heard Harry exclaim and inwardly rolled his eyes and heaved a long sigh of exhaustion. No, the boy simply couldn't let it rest, could he? He just had to get into yet more trouble.

Burke looked up at the sounds of a child's voice and scowled at the hunched black silhouettes, standing out starkly against the almost white light, coming through the windows. "How the hell has the kid gotten in 'ere?" he muttered to himself, quickly tying a knot and passing the package on to his customer. "This is a present to ya, m' lord, free of any charge," he smiled ingratiatingly, but his eyes once again focused on the three visitors in the farthest row. "Those wretched hags again..."

"Who are they?" Voldemort asked, feigning boredom, as he slowly put the package into his inner pocket, listening in to the sounds behind him. He couldn't simply go and save Harry now, obliviating three witnesses was troublesome, since they all were wizards, two of which were completely unknown to him. Yet he could not let them see that he and the boy were of any relation whatsoever - the rumors had the tendency to spread here faster than the fire. 

"Cannibals, m' lord," Burke whispered, leaning closer across the desk, "Two ol' witches from the moors. They steal muggle children mostly, but sometimes take wizards too. Dirty business, I can tell ya, they are sick, perverted bitches," he shook his head, rubbing on his unshaved neck uncomfortably. "Nobody dares to confront 'em, though. Ancient and dangerous they are..." 

Voldemort raised an imperious eyebrow and turned around to take a seemingly impassive look at the scene. 

"Oh, just smell this scent, sister!" One of the hags held Harry by the shoulders, digging her long, black claws into his skin, scarring him through the thick fabric of his clothes, while the other one held his hands firmly in hers, rubbing her crooked nose against his palms and licking on them from time to time with a long, disgustingly wet tongue. 

Its touch was nothing like Tom's, it was horrible, repugnant. However, no matter how hard he tried to break free the witches held him tightly and all Harry could do was to helplessly fight them.

"Stop touching me!" he cried again, but it was fruitless.

"Don't be shy, little lord," the one in the pointed hat cackled, "You are so lovely you deserve to be touched all the time, everywhere!" She plunged her lips onto his throat and sucked on the skin harshly, moaning in pleasure.

Gaging, feeling sick to stomach, suddenly enraged by her barefaced impudence Harry snapped and strained his every cell to get away from them, "Don't you dare touch me!" he thought he screamed, but it came out as a harsh hiss, as the witches were suddenly thrown away by an invisible force, and he landed on his arse not very far from them. 

"The serpent's tongue!" One of them gasped, sitting up and staring at the green eyed boy in horror.

"I think you should go back to your office and ignore whatever is going on here for the whole day," Voldemort turned sharply back and peered into Burke's withered eyes, speaking slowly and lowly, emphasizing every word.

"Yeees, I should," the old man intoned dreamily, as his gaze unfocused and his face lost any traces of concentration and understanding. He turned on his heels and disappeared behind the curtain.

"A parselmouth!" The other witch cried, pointing her finger at Harry. "Salazar's Slytherin heir!" She hastily rose on her fours and crawled towards him, panting like a wild animal, boring her black eyes into his. "Get him, get him, sister!" 

"Stay away!" Harry hissed at her, startling her into a fearful halt and making her tilt her head and listen to him in a wondrous amusement. "Leave me alone!" He jerked back, when she leaped at him and grabbed him on the ankle. "Let me go!" he kept crying in parseltongue, trying to fight her off with his other foot and glancing fearfully at the other hag, that was already crawling towards him as well. "Get off!" He screamed and the old witch screeched in pain, shrinking away and clutching on her burnt palm.

"A powerful one! Must be of a direct bloodline," the other one hissed, hesitantly ceasing any moving and watching him hungrily. "What if we eat him and take his powers to ourselves, sister?" She looked up at the other, "What if we use his blood in our potions, imagine how potent they would be?" They both cackled maddeningly at the thought and simultaneously advanced on Harry. 

Bored with the show Voldemort stepped out of the shadow and stopped next to the child, looking down his long nose at the two cringing bitches. "And what is going on here?" His ruby eyes narrowed slightly in disgust when both hags prostrated themselves before him reverently. 

"The Dark Lord Voldemort!" They sighed in unison, sharing a mischievous, dirty look between themselves, "What an honour to meet such a great warlock here! It is such a rarity nowadays that you grace us, unworthy mortals, with your presence!" 

"Flattery would not get you anywhere. Have you gone completely insane? How dare you to even dream of eating a magical child, let alone a parselmouth?" he growled at them, gesturing for the boy to stand up. Harry was instantly behind him, clutching on his robe and trembling all over, pressed against his thigh. It must have been a shock to meet the witches that he thought existed only in illustrations on the pages of his fairy tale books. 

"Oh, but he is a very interesting boy!" one of them crooned, moving closer to Voldemort and caressing his ankles lovingly. "He must possess great power, my lord! Wouldn't you wish to obtain it for yourself?"

"Yeees, doesn't it tempt you with its sweet song?" her sister sing sang, taking one of his hands into hers and kissing it, as if it was a sacred relic. "A man of your power, of your origin can't be ignorant of such a wonderful, wonderful prize, that is simply waiting to be taken. Taken... if you know what I mean," she let out a rasp chuckle, looking up at him playfully, and sucked on one of his fingers.

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, but stretching his lips in a wide, cruel smile, he bent lower, and purred at her charmingly, "Why, yes, you are absolutely right, my dear." He pushed his thumb into her filthy, stinking mouth and as she moaned lustfully and sucked on it too, he grabbed her long, moist tongue and tore it sharply out, leaning slightly back, away from the blood that poured out along with an inhuman cry of pain. She fell on her back, wailing and thrashing on the floor, holding her both hands pressed tightly against her bleeding mouth. 

"Where are you going?" Voldemort twisted his wrist and the other hag, who tried to run, was instantly pulled to lie at his feet. "Why don't you taste your sister instead? I bet she is just as sweet as she looks," he laughed coldly and magically forced the maimed tongue into the witch's throat. Though she struggled, roaring like a beast, he was still much stronger and kept pushing and pushing, feeling exhilaration hastily building inside of him, concentrating its heat in his abdomen. 

Harry hid his face in Tom's clothes, sobbing quietly into it, trying very hard not to hear the deafening screams of the two women. It felt as if a whole eternity had passed before all the sounds suddenly ceased and an oppressing silence fell around him. Tentatively he looked up at his master, who stood tall and seemingly bored and unaffected again, cleaning his blooded hands with a handkerchief. Only his deep, heavy breathing was any indication of how actually excited he felt - Harry sensed it in his aura, through their strange link. 

Swallowing hard he slowly directed his glance at the two motionless bodies, that lay slumped against each other. Both faces of the old hags were distorted in an ugly masks of utter terror and Harry quickly hid away again, gasping at the sight. There was so much blood around them, and something else, that looked a lot like what Daedalus usually put into soups, Harry didn't really want to know what.

"Do you think you've had enough of adventures for one day?" He heard Tom ask him in a bored, tired tone.

"Can we go home, please?" he whined meekly and rubbed on his face to brush the traitorous tears away, when Tom took him by the shoulders and bent down to take a look at him. "I'm frightened." 

"Of course you are." Voldemort peered into the emerald eyes, pondering over what the hag had said. He wondered what did they feel in Harry, were they attracted to him because of his innocent beauty or because of the horcrux, that was inside of him? The child obviously affected them sexually, just like he himself did, but he was a grown man, while Harry was just a little boy... 

Puzzeled, he gently caressed the boy's cheek, rubbing a smudge of dirt off of it absentmindedly, not really registering what was he doing. Was Harry going to one day turn into him? Into his magical clone? There were so many questions without answers, and the more his boy grew the more riddles he brought him. Why didn't he feel the allure that was so evident to others? Or was he indeed simply ignoring it, out of habit and the boy's permanent closeness? 

"Tom?" Harry called him quietly and he snapped out of his stupor, hastily jerking his hand away from the lovely face.

"Let's go," he muttered irritably and quickly strode towards the fireplace. He absolutely hated it when he couldn't understand his own feelings, that, in his opinion, were dramatically overrated by others. 

xxx

The time flew fast and winter came suddenly and unexpectedly, as always. It was late evening, Tom was away and Harry's scar was bleeding and hurting again. Hissing and soundlessly crying in pain he tiptoed out of his bedroom and looked around the corridor - Daedalus could be heard whistling and clattering dishes somewhere deep down in the manor, the door into the study stood ajar and the lights were turned off. Whatever it was that angered his master wasn't here. Scowling and holding his palm pressed against the bleeding, pulsing wound Harry walked down the stairs and into the hall, that he was prohibited to enter. 

Although it was the only room that was opened and used on this floor, it didn't seem all that significant to be closed off from him so thoroughly. It seemed that Tom had forgotten to seal it this time and Harry easily slipped through the tall, heavy doors, looking around in wonder, trying to ignore the building migraine in his head. It was just a spacious, empty hall, with only dust on its floor and one old throne carved of dark wood in the middle of it. The dim lights flickered lightly under the breeze of the wind that he couldn't feel, but something in his gut, an odd, unfamiliar sensation told Harry that something was wrong and he hastily ran forward and crouched behind the throne, holding his other hand pressed against his mouth. 

"The fuck have you followed me for?!" Voldemort roared, when he apparated into the room in a whirl of snowflakes, stumbling on his way as a second figure fell next to him. "I ordered you to run, idiot! But it didn't mean here!" 

"My lord!" a masked stranger wailed, prostrating himself at his feet. "I am wanted by the A-"

But he couldn't finish, for Voldemort had already raised his wand. "Crucio!" 

Harry watched, mesmerized, as the body thrashed on the floor, being hit against the hard stones with such severity he felt sick to the stomach and forcibly gulped down the bile, that threatened to pour out of him. The unnatural sounds of the bones breaking, of the flesh slapping against the rough surface, the unbearable cries that filled the hall, but most importantly Tom's horribly distorted, inhuman face, marred with an expression of a beastly delight, scared Harry and he couldn't help but whine miserably, quietly into his sweaty palm, feeling the hot tears of horror streaming down his cheeks, mixed with the blood from his scar, that seemed to have been set on fire. 

"How is this my fucking problem? Time and again you disobey my orders - of what use are you to me if all you do is give me migraines and shit to clean up after you?" Voldemort raged, intensifying the power of the curse and cringing himself under the overwhelming pleasure that surged through his veins. Black, black pleasure... "This is the last time I will save your useless arse!" he hissed tiredly, drawing his wand down and taking a step back, watching in disgust the trembling flesh, that puked and wheezed, trying to thank him. 

Harry stared in terror at the half dead, maimed man, whose mask had long been broken and lay in crooked shards around his head, that barely resembled human anymore. Tom suddenly moved forward and slashed his arm through the air sharply - the body was blown away and into the wall and with a last weak cry the man's skull cracked and splashed its contents onto the stones.

"Now they will never find you. No need to thank me," he gritted acidly and twisted his lips at the pieces of brain that got stuck on the hem of his blooded, torn robe. 

"Master?" Daedalus entered, looking around fearfully, and instantly noticed Harry, who was peeking from behind the throne, green in the face.

"What?" Voldemort snapped, trying to brush the flesh off of himself, "Is it Harry's scar again?" 

The elf shook his head awkwardly and grimaced apologetically as he pointed his finger in the boy's direction. Voldemort's head shot up and his eyes narrowed dangerously when they locked with the two emerald ones, that blinked at him from the darkness.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?!" he barely pronounced the words, panting in rage, hovering over the child's small, shaking form. "Haven't I told you, that you are prohibited from ever coming here? Haven't I? How did you get in here?" With every question his voice became lower and harsher, quieter, more and more resembling a snake's hiss rather than a human speech.

Swallowing hard under the cold, merciless glare of blood red eyes, that were all but skinning him, Harry strained his trembling lips to mumble, "The d-doors weren't s-sealed."

"And if they were not sealed then it meant you were free to do as you please, didn't it?!" he whispered, bending down to bump the tip of his nose against Harry's puffy one, shaking in rage. "Do you wish to scream under my wand just like that bastard did? Do you?" 

"No! Stop scaring me, Tom!" Harry cried, suddenly angry himself. "I'm so tired of your anger! It hurts so much!" He grabbed on his forehead, gaging, trying hard not to throw up from the nauseating pain and numbness in his brain. 

Astonished Voldemort stared at the boy, scowling, and once again uncertain of what should he do. His blinding rage clouded his mind and tempted him to just take his wand and have his orgasm again, come while watching the child suffer, but his rationality fought the sadistic streak, telling him that he couldn't do it to Harry, that Harry was too young, too weak to withstand such a horrible torture... 

"Tired of my anger?" he asked slowly, putting a generous bite into every word.

Irritated and scared Harry suddenly pushed him away with his small fists and sprang on his feet, "Stop being so mean, Tom! Why are you so angry all the time?!"

Voldemort landed on his arse and blinked at the boy dumbly. All of his rage had all of a sudden disappeared in favour of shock. The notion, that none of the two hundred Death Eaters dared to even look at him out of order, let alone argue with him, while a six year old boy, weak and defenseless, had the guts to fight him physically and chide him, amused him so much that he threw his head back and burst into a booming, heartfelt laughter. Wasn't this exactly what he wanted from Harry in the future? His choice once again proved to be right.

"Why are you laughing at me now? I'm not funny!" Harry threw his arms in the air helplessly, and a smile, that he tried to fight so hard, stretched his lips despite all of his attempts. He could never resist smiling back when Tom did, especially when he laughed. And what a laughter it was! Deafening, rich and warm, nothing like the cold chuckle he was used to. But his head hurt too much and Harry swayed on his feet, clutching onto the scar that was still pulsing painfully. However, he didn't fall - a hand steadied him firmly and pulled him closer to the wizard. Tom took him by the upper arms and held him tightly, peering into his eyes.

Clearing his throat after laughing so hoarsely Voldemort reached out and brushed the strands of wet, blooded raven hair away from the scarred forehead. "Whatever you might say, Harry, you must be punished for your disobedience." He sighed when he realized that his hands were dirty and covered in the victims' blood - all was left for him to do was to cup Harry's face with his palms and lick on the boy's skin, to clean him off of his blood that was still affecting Voldemort so strongly and he still didn't know why. 

Groaning pitifully under the familiar, pleasant sensation of a wet tongue caressing him Harry circled his arms around Tom's neck and leaned on him exhaustedly, pressing into his chest, wishing he didn't have to let go. When the cool hands tried to push him away he stubbornly tightened his hold and whispered into the man's ear, "Please, Tom, I'm frightened," and squeezed his eyes shut as he caught the sight of Daedalus rubbing the blood and insides off of the wall. Harry was never allowed to hug his friend and he wished to do that so much, he loved that one time when Tom held him through the night, he swore to himself that one day he would be held like this again. 

Even though he was befuddled and confused by the contradicting notion that Tom was both the cruelest and scariest wizard, he had ever seen in his life, and the most trustworthy and kind man he had ever known, Harry still thought that despite all this his master wouldn't hurt him and would always, always keep him safe. Tom's embrace was the safest, most precious and pleasant sensation that he had ever experienced. It brought comfort and serenity. It felt like home. No matter what horrible things his friend did Harry knew he would be shielded from them.

Of course he was frightened, that was the reason why he wasn't allowed to come into the hall. Voldemort sighed and pressed his nose against the boy's temple - he hated how much his traitorous body loved their contact, how much it craved to prolong it. He gently laid his hand onto the small, thin back and listened in to the frantic beating of a tiny heart inside, that was as loud as a drum-roll at the execution. 

"I will not scare you anymore, however, you are grounded, Harry. For three weeks. No walks outside, no sweets, no games, only studying," he muttered, inadvertently smelling the child's scent that was so sweet and welcoming, he doubted he ever found any other to be so alluring. Had he truly been ignoring it before?

It was so unfair, Harry wanted to cry in offense, but knew better then to throw a tantrum. "Alright," he mumbled instead and buried his face into the wild, tangled hair, tightening his embrace. "Please, don't be angry anymore," he whispered, sighing in contentment, feeling as his heavy head began to lighten gradually. 

"You are asking too much of me, child," Voldemort said softly and finally pulled away to stand up. "Go back to your room and change, Daedalus will give you a potion after he is finished here." 

Harry wanted to say something, as he looked up at his master, who now stood, towering over him with his mighty height, but once again experienced that odd sensation that made the lights flicker somewhat brighter in the hall and suddenly found himself in the darkness - Tom turned on his heels and threw his long outer robe, cold and wet with melted snow, over him to hide him from another unexpected guest. Harry grabbed on his thigh, trying to squeeze his thin body into Tom's leg and peeked through the gap in the drapes of the wizard's usually heavily layered outfit. 

"My Lord," a tall, dark man kneeled before him and Voldemort rolled his eyes in exasperation, while Severus couldn't see him. 

Harry always chose just the right time to cause troubles, as did Snape to report one of his lies. He had no doubts of the man's alliances, but he needed to keep up the pretense of being an open, predictable book to Dumbledore, therefore the potions master was bound to stay alive. For the time being. 

"Yes, Severus," he drawled lazily, looking down at his robes to see if Harry wasn't once again trying to add more excitement to his already very entertaining evening, by showing himself to the one person who could instantly recognize him.

"Dumbledore took the bait, just as you have predicted," Severus dutifully gritted out, trying not to look at the annoying bits of brain on his lord's clothes. He noticed the elf sweating over the stains of blood and knew better then to anger the warlock further - he didn't want to become another painting on one of the stone walls here. "Aurors captured Avery." 

He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. No, commanding Death Eaters, fighting Dumbledore, plotting against the government and the muggles and raising a child was all too much for him, he had definitely overestimated his own limits. 

"Let the idiot rot in Azkaban until the apocalypse, I have no need for his servitude anymore," he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

Severus raised his eyebrows at the unusually rigid posture of the man - the Dark Lord always relaxed on his throne after a fight, or lay dramatically in it, grieving his followers' incompetence, but now he stood like a statue, rather awkwardly, and was obviously looking forward to Severus' departure. "If that is all, my lord..." Voldemort simply nodded and waved his hand impatiently. The puzzled potions master disappeared. 

"Do you understand why I forbade you to come here?" he asked the empty hall. "If anybody sees you you will die and I would not be able to protect you, Harry."

The boy tentatively looked at him, coming into the light from underneath the heavy robe. "I'm sorry, Tom," he hung his head lowly, blushing in shame - even his small ears reddened. 

"Go and change, Harry," Voldemort sighed, fighting the sudden, ridiculous urge to comfort the child, "And go to sleep. Do not come here again." 

xxx

During the last few days of December he noticed that Harry was acting suspiciously. The boy kept stealing uncertain, shy glances at him and looked as if he wanted to ask something, but was too insecure to do that and simply dropped the matter altogether. That was rather an uncharacteristic behavior for the usually curious and garrulous child and Voldemort had more than once caught himself pondering over it for hours instead of working, which annoyed him greatly. Whatever it was that Harry had gotten into that small head of his didn't have any significance to him, or at least he tried to convince himself that it didn't. It was the morning of the 31st and he was working on his spells' formulas as usual, when a soft knocking came on the door and Harry hesitantly opened it and slipped through the narrow gap into the study.

"What is it?" he drawled, not sparing the boy a glance and continuing to write, "We won't have any lessons today, I have told you already."

"Sorry..." Harry said incomprehensibly, "It's not about the lessons..."

Voldemort looked up and sneered in ire, "Stop mumbling like an imbecile and tell me what is the matter then?" 

Biting on his lower lip, as he always did when he was nervous, Harry stretched out his hands, that were previously hidden behind his back, and demonstrated a bright yellow, though rather old and tattered book to him. "I know I'm grounded and punished, but... May I... Could we have a Christmas Tree for the New Year's eve?" he stammered hastily, keeping his eyes trained shyly on his toes. "Please?"

Arching his eyebrows at the picture of a classic Christmas Tree, drawn as an illustration to the Charles Dickens' famous tale, Voldemort sighed and put his quill away. "Look at me, Harry, you know I can't stand it when you hide your eyes from me." The boy instantly complied, and he met an uncertain but pleading gaze, wet with unshed, stubbornly held back tears. "We never celebrate this nonsense, you know that too," he muttered tiredly, "Why would you need this rubbish? It is a stupid muggle tradition that they have copied after wizards. However, I do not celebrate the Yule either, since I have no faith into some none existent spirits. Find something useful to do with you time."

Frowning in disappointment and regret and hunching his shoulders Harry hung his head and turned to leave. 

"Alright." 

Why was Tom so averse to celebrate Christmas and decorate for the holiday - Harry didn't understand and it pained him. He often questioned the fact that he had no other friends except Tom, that he never met other magical children, though he knew they existed, but he learned to accept it. Daedalus told him many times how worried his master was for his well being and safety, how dangerous it was to communicate with other wizards, how unreliable they were, how traitorous. But Harry often felt cheated, deprived of simple pleasures that he could only read about. 

He still used to wonder sometimes what it was like to have real parents, though, he hardly regretted the absence of those in his life - Tom was his family after all. But he never had what all the little boys in all the stories had and it saddened him. He wanted to be normal, he wanted to know what was it like to find presents from St Nicholas under the tree, what was it like to blow candles on a birthday cake, what was it like to be kissed good night and loved... But none of that was available to him. Tears finally poured out of his eyes as he quietly closed the door behind himself and shuffled his bare feet in the direction of his bedroom. Why, why was Tom so mean to him? 

His gaze followed the obviously crushed, heartbroken boy out of the room and halted at the door handle, that clicked softly as Harry let it go. All this holiday idiocy annoyed and disgusted him, he couldn't find what was so charming and magical about it, that turned other's heads and made them act absolutely inappropriately. He had once accepted Malfoy's invitation to attend his family's Christmas Eve celebration - he found it to be unbearably boring, pointless, time consuming. Sappy, sentimental way of praising the blind romanticism that had no place in their world, in their lives, that were nothing but a struggle, a survival. 

Clicking his tongue in realization that he was once again incapable of concentrating on his work Voldemort grudgingly rose up from his seat and stretched his stiffened back. Habitually walking over to the window he tardily remembered that Harry was grounded and wasn't going to walk outside today. Frowning he looked over the grounds, covered with a thick white sheet of snow, buried in a long, cold sleep. It all looked dull and lifeless without a raven haired menace running around and playing happily with the old elf.

When he was a boy of Harry's age he used to dream of St Nicholas to come and take him away from the horrible hole that his orphanage was. He never wished for any other kind of presents, that other children were heatedly discussing between each other. All he ever wished for was to get away from them all, to find his parents, to have a family that could love him and cherish him and would have never looked down at him for being different. He remembered the Christmas Days and the New Year's eves very clearly, as if they had only happened yesterday, even though over seventy years had passed since... 

Their caretakers could never afford a tree or any decorations and all the children worked hard to make garlands out of the litter that they could find in the streets. Presents were usually the hand-me-downs, so generously sent to them by the old, bored to death aristocratic hags, who were so rich they didn't know where to keep all of their countless outfits, so they simply gave them away, pretending to be the ever caring and noble people, whose hearts bled for the little, starving orphans... 

Twisting his lips in disdain Voldemort thought back on the way he had always been punished on the Christmas Day and put into the dark, scary basement to learn his lesson - how was it his fault that he hoped for St Nicholas to come for him so much, that his accidental magic flared and made random objects break or blow up at their own accord? He squeezed his eyes, repulsed by his own naiveté and folly, that were, thankfully, buried in his past forever. Nobody ever came for him, nobody saved him, too early he learned that no St Nicholas, no Santa Claus, no good spirits existed, too early he became disappointed in life and people... 

His first real Christmas Tree was set up at Hogwarts, when one day he, as the only slytherin staying at the school for the holidays, entered the Great Hall for breakfast and saw the magnificent spruces, two dozen of them, taking up all the free space of the room, reaching to and getting lost in the charmed ceiling, decorated with brightly gleaming and cheerfully ringing bells, golden snitches and candles, that burned with different colours... It was his second deepest, strongest impression that he had experienced in his life and hidden far, far away in his memory along with the breathtaking sight of the castle of Hogwarts soaring high above the mirror of the Black Lake on the first of September of his first day of being a real wizard... 

He hated it even then. He hated his incapability to enjoy what others took for granted, he hated how impressed he was, how touched by what he had been so unfairly deprived of for his whole childhood. He loathed the presents that the ever loving and pitying teachers sent him every year: sweets, books, warm socks and robes - things he, as an orphan, could never afford even in a magical world, even being a powerful wizard. How humiliating it all seemed to him, how foolish... Why did Harry want it so much? The boy knew perfectly well that nobody was going to suddenly come through the chimney in the middle of a night and leave a present under a tree... He had everything he needed and wanted, he was well cared for and thoroughly educated - how could it be insufficient for him? 

Voldemort scowled, as he turned away from the depressive view and stared thoughtfully into the fire in the hearth. He didn't want Harry to believe that they were a family and yet he wanted to make the boy his friend, his confidant... He had never had a family himself, he didn't know if there really was a difference... The child needed discipline, he had already spoiled him terribly by being so lenient in regards of his faults and mistakes, disobedience. What would Harry think of him, if he would indulge him in his every whim? That he was somebody who could be used, taken advantage of? No, he had had enough of this in his life, he wouldn't let his own horcrux go this far. He creased his brow, as the echo of the boy's sadness had reached his consciousness through their link. Harry was crying again. How sick and tired he was of the constant tears - what kind of a man was this sop going to become? 

Irritated and angered by the stream of the hated memories of his bitter past he found himself at Harry's door - no sounds could be heard behind it, but he still could feel the boy's weeping. He pushed it open sharply and scowled darkly, but Harry wasn't crying into his pillow, as he often did - he was seated at his desk, hunched over the book, obviously reading it even though his tears kept falling onto the pages. 

"Stop crying over every little thing, for Salazar's sake! You are pathetic!" he hissed acidly and narrowed his eyes when an unexpectedly hard, stubborn gaze met his. 

"You're just like Scrooge, Tom!" Harry said in a small voice, failing to sound just as cold as the man in front of him was. "You're mean and angry all the time, all you do is ruin other's happiness! I wish the spirits came to you too and made you... better," he finished uncertainly, burnt by the particularly icy glare of the blood red eyes.

"Am I?" Voldemort asked hollowly, pursing his lips into a tight, white line, as they trembled in rage. What a cheek! "You know what? Have you bloody tree, have it! Sit underneath it and wait for the bloody whoever it is you believe in to come and to give you a present, for being the good boy that you are! Have it, Harry! I don't fucking care!" he shouted spitefully and shut the door behind himself with a deafening bang, barely fighting the tremor in his hands, that itched to take the wand and teach the insolent brat a good lesson in respect and obedience. A weak cry of pain told him that Harry was already punished by a severe pain in his head and he stormed off and into his study, smiling evilly to himself. Let the little bastard suffer.

Much later, in the evening far past the supper time Voldemort found himself frozen at his desk, bent over his work that hadn't progressed further than a few more lines since the very morning. Wretched Harry and his petty tears had once again distracted him. Sighing he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples and groaning in exhaustion. What had gotten into him? It was all this holiday spirit that he hated so much, it always enraged him and turned him into a spoilt child himself. Not that he felt guilty or ashamed of what he had told the boy - he told him the truth after all - and yet there was this strange weight in his chest, that sent the unpleasant itching all over his skin. Perhaps, he was unfair after all. He shouldn't have screamed at Harry, but should have simply explained to him, as he did in his lessons, that there was no point in celebrating a lie.

Feeling hungry and drained he walked in the direction of the dining room, briefly thinking that the boy must have eaten already, and once again found himself at Harry's door. He couldn't understand what was happening to him, why was he affected so much by the child and his foolish offenses. He softly pushed the handle down and carefully stepped into the room, expecting to once again lessen the boy's pain and restore peace between the two of them. To his surprise Harry wasn't brooding, nor was he running towards him to ask for forgiveness. In fact, the boy hadn't even noticed him - he sat on the floor with his back to the door, with his legs crossed, at the base of a big, furry spruce and was giggling happily, as Daedalus helped him make the colourful glass orbs out of the bubbles, that he blew through a long, thin tube. Harry had taken his words literally and simply asked the elf to bring him a Christmas Tree. 

Raising his eyebrows in astonishment Voldemort looked around the brightly decorated room - it appeared that Harry spent the whole day working very hard on creating a New Year's eve for himself: there were garlands made of parchments, coloured with the magic ink that he had given the boy for drawing, Daedalus brought the bells of different kinds and sizes and tied them to the red and white bows - they hung above the hearth, above the bed and were scattered all over the tree, dinging gently, copying after Harry's laughter. The candles soared in the air, very much like they did at Hogwarts, and the room was filled with a strong smell of wax and cinnamon. 

"What present do you wish for, young master?" the ever cunning and perceptive Daedalus asked Harry, no doubt having had noticed Voldemort standing at the threshold and watching them intently. 

Harry shrugged his shoulders carelessly, "I don't know, I don't really need anything." 

"But you must have a dream, a secret wish, master Harry," the old elf smiled at the boy, marveling how modest, undemanding his little lord was. 

Any other child, young lord Malfoy for certain, would have thrown tantrums every time he was rejected a celebration, a present, a party, any of his whims... But little Harry was just as unpretentious as the Dark Lord himself was. Daedalus had long learned that Voldemort didn't have any kind of interest in money, popularity, influence and gaining of a wealth - he did it all purely out of necessity, since all these were the important factors of his political image. He couldn't command the purebloods without acting as one. However, it all was an illusion, throwing of dust in the eyes of his followers and enemies... 

The man hardly remembered that he needed to change robes every time he was to hold a meeting, for he always wore the very same clothes at home, used only two rooms and had hardly wasted another galleon on anything else but food and everything that was needed for the child. As time went by Daedalus found he liked his new masters much more than Malfoys. He never once was beaten or screamed at here, Harry treated him as a friend and a teacher, not a slave, the Dark Lord barely made any orders for himself and let him reign over the house and do whatever he pleased, as long as it didn't disturb the man. Daedalus couldn't stand the conflicts between his two masters and felt he had to do something, to make the two stubborn children reconcile. Christmas holiday was a perfect chance. 

"Oh," Harry sighed, smiling, and fell on his back, spreading his legs and arms widely on the soft rug, staring at the paper stars on the ceiling, that he had made and Daedalus had put up there. "I wish to become a real wizard! Just as powerful and strong as Tom is!" Voldemort involuntarily smirked at the words and leaned against the doorframe to listen further. "I wish I could fly," Harry mumbled dreamily, waving his arms around himself as wings, "Like a bird, you know? Tom said he would teach me - I wish I grew up sooner!"

"Ah, but you shouldn't hurry to grow up, master. Childhood is the best time of a human's life - at least that is what they say," Daedalus patted him on his hair lovingly and proceeded to blow more orbs for the decorating.

"Being a child is boring," Harry objected cheerfully. "You can't do magic, you can't read dark books, you can't fly," he counted on his fingers, "You are too small, too short, too young for this, for that... I want to be just as tall and smart as Tom is!" 

"You will be, young master, don't worry about that. You know how much our master cares about you - he will see to that you grew up a great wizard," the elf smiled, stealing a seemingly accidental glance at Voldemort, who merely arched an eyebrow at the creature. Had he become soft? Had he gone insane after all, that he let a bloody boy and a bloody house elf influence him? 

"I know," Harry suddenly lost all of his cheer and cheek and rolled on his side, sighing heavily, and picked on the tree's needles. "I wish... Actually, I wish that Tom stopped being so angry all the time. I wish he smiled more, for me... He's so beautiful when he smiles. I would have done anything to make him smile and laugh..." Voldemort tilted his head to the side, frowning. Was it natural for children to wish for something like that? He would have understood if Harry wanted a broom or his own wand, but... Why would he want him to smile? Why did he want him to express these useless, human emotions so much? 

Harry sat up again and took a few orbs to hang them on the branches. "He makes me so angry when he shouts at me. He's so unfair sometimes I want to punch him," he muttered under his breath, though both the wizard and the elf heard him. "One day, when I grow up, I will invent a potion that would turn him into a good and kind person." 

The unexpected adult confidence behind the boy's words sent shivers down his spine and Voldemort hastily left, shutting the door soundlessly behind him. He contemplated if he had indeed grown soft that he never once even considered the possibility that Harry could actually do that. He was teaching him to become just as educated and developed in all fields of magic as he himself was - in just eight, ten years Harry, with his sharp mind and great power, would be able to actually invent such a potion. What if raising the child as his equal was in truth the very mysterious power that the prophecy mentioned? What if he had given Harry a weapon against himself without even knowing it? 

For if he thought about it: there was truly no need to kill someone to defeat him, just as he had planned to change Harry, Harry could very well change him and destroy the Dark Lord altogether, turn him into a 'good, kind person' instead... A deep line formed on his forehead, as he furrowed his brow and slowly walked back into his study, having had suddenly lost appetite. Harry needed to be taught cruelty and introduced to the allure of the dark much sooner than he had previously thought. That way the boy could learn to accept his personality and cease all attempts and dreams of changing it. Yes, he would correct his own mistakes, he would not let Harry destroy what he had been working so hard to create for his whole life: himself.

The morning of the 1st of January he met on the sofa in the study, having had fallen asleep at some point during his night musings. A cup of hot tea and a fresh newspaper were waiting for him on the desk and he grumpily took them, sitting back in the pillows and scowling at the headlines. It was indeed very advantageous to have a house elf, as much as he hated to admit that - he couldn't stand the notion that he needed somebody's help and yet he had enough sense to acknowledge that Daedalus was rather smart and tactful, always knew what he needed and when. If only all of his servants were the same.

Voldemort got immersed into the long article on a yet another dispute, that had been held in Wizengamot in regards of the Death Eater activities, and he barely noticed that a door was opened and Harry tiptoed towards him, holding something in his hands. "Well?" he asked absentmindedly, still focused on the text.

"I came to apologize," Harry grinned, leaning against the arm of the sofa and the man's shoulder, looking curiously into the paper in Tom's hands, "And to thank you."

"Hmmm?" he nodded his head, still not really listening. 

"I found a present under my Christmas Tree," Harry leaned even closer, watching his master mirthfully, adoringly. How could he ever doubt the red eyed wizard? How could he ever hold a grudge against him, when he was so kind and attentive towards him? 

"Oh, really? Who is it from? Santa Claus? Snow Queen? Peter Pan?" Voldemort scoffed, finally putting down the newspaper and glancing at the boy, who stood unexpectedly close, so close there were mere inches between their noses. 

"No, I know they don't exist," Harry giggled softly and held out his hand, in which something small was hidden. Before Voldemort realized what he was doing he stretched his own palm and a slowly melting chocolate truffle was placed on it. "I know it was you, who put a box of sweets under my tree, Tom," the boy smiled brilliantly, blushing, and threw his arms around Voldemort's neck, startling him. "I'm sorry, Tom, you're nothing like Scrooge. Forgive me?" 

He wanted to say that he never put any sweets under the damned tree and it all was the old elf's manipulations, but before he managed to pronounce a word, snapped out of his astonished stupor, a boy simply laughed and pressed his wet lips against his cheek, close to the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, Tom, you are the best!" Harry cried and kissed him more soundly again, feeling happy and elated as he had never felt before. He had never kissed Tom and now he had the unique opportunity to kiss him on his beautiful, funnily surprised face! He pecked him a few times more, giggling all the while and whispered again, "Thank you, Happy New Year!" and ran away, skipping merrily and humming something incomprehensibly under his breath.

Shocked Voldemort sat on the sofa with his hand frozen in the air, and a chocolate truffle melting on it, while his other hand kept touching on the place where the boy had just so sloppily, so childishly, so... Unbearably pleasantly kissed him. Nobody had ever kissed him before like that, never so gently, never so lovingly, sincerely and gratefully. He didn't know what to do, what to think. He kept staring at the truffle and caressing the slightly moist and sticky, chocolate traces of kisses on his skin. Something warm and comforting wormed its way into his heart, choking him, for he could hardly breathe. He turned seventy years old just yesterday and today was the first time he had ever been kissed on the New Year's day, had ever been kissed and congratulated, given a present not out of pity or calculated gain, but out of sincere wish to be shared with... 

Voldemort put the melting treat into his mouth and closed his eyes, savouring the sweet taste on his tongue - he rarely ate sweets, for it was inappropriate for a man of his status and image to indulge himself in something so mundane and childish... And yet he loved chocolate, it was one thing he had always been deprived of at the orphanage and always generously showered with at Hogwarts. "I don't have a sweet tooth," he scowled to himself, as he licked the remains off of his palm and fingers. He had to have a serious talk with Daedalus - it was inadmissible to let the boy think that he was some kind of a soft hearted sop, who could be just hugged and kissed so easily... 

He sprang on his feet but instead of calling for the elf started pacing the room, holding his hand pressed against his cheek all the while. He didn't understand why was it affecting him so, why did the kiss make his insides tremble so nicely, why the heat concentrated in his abdomen and flattered so lovely, very much like wings of butterflies would... Harry's blinding smile stood before his eyes, the emerald orbs and their mesmerizing gleam bewitched him and turned his head. Could it be real? Could he truly like the boy, as in being attracted to him? Harry was merely a child, there was nothing sexual in his touch and caress, his gaze, and yet there was so much warmth, so much kindness and admiration... 

Children were incapable of such deep, strong emotions, he was certain, he had had his share of their deceiving, mean nature, he knew they were nothing but selfish animals, either hardened by the poverty and famine, very much like he was, or spoilt by their idiotic, lenient parents... His Harry was special, Voldemort reminded himself. He was nothing like other children, other people for that matter. Everything about his little wizard was different and abnormal and yet it seemed completely natural to him... Except for the kiss. He suddenly came to a halt and groaned miserably and angrily at the same time, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn't believe he wanted more of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV. Friends or foes.

Harry inhaled sharply, when he suddenly woke up. It was already dark outside, he noticed, when he turned to look at the window. His back ached from an uncomfortable cot, that felt more like a pile of rocks than a feather bed. Grumping and rubbing on the sore spots he slowly rose up and hastily shook off the shoes that he had previously forgotten to take off. Stretching his toes, enjoying the freedom and cool air around his sensitive skin he took off his robe-that-was-a-coat-now and threw it onto the bed. It was very hot, stuffy in this small room, cramped with useless, dusty rubbish. 

Squinting sleepily at his surroundings he carefully stepped over the litter, that was spread all over the floor, and bent down to pick up an old clock, that was still surprisingly working, though its glass was broken and one of the arrows was twisted at an awkward angle. It was nine in the evening. Harry's stomach groaned loudly, startling him, and he suddenly realized that he hadn't eaten for the whole day - this was very bad, he was ought to eat at least three times... Scratching on his head he once again wondered how oddly was his memory coming to him, in weird, basic notions and habits. 

Remembering what the woman, his aunt Petunia, had told him Harry soundlessly opened the door and looked out into the dark hall - all three Dursleys were downstairs in the living room, laughing and talking loudly, trying to outvoice somebody else's screams and applause. Had they invited more muggles over? Tightening his hold around his holly wand Harry very slowly and stealthily walked over to the staircase and down the steps, looking out for every suspicious shadow, for every unexpected movement. 

He peered through the doorway into the living room and widened his eyes in shock - there were only his relatives present and that black box, that he hadn't recognized and that Petunia had called a telly, was alight now and there were people inside it, hundreds of people, shouting at each other and clapping all the time. Befuddled he frantically tried to analyze just what kind of a spell could squeeze them all into the tiny box and make the images flicker so fast, very much like wizarding photographs... Blinking dumbly at the scene and scratching on his head again in bewilderment Harry decided he shouldn't care. Muggle technologies, if he remembered the term correctly, were useless to him. Seeing that Dursleys were literally bewitched with what was shown to them he let himself relax and walked away, into the kitchen.

As promised a lonely plate stood on the table, that was covered by the same atrocious, knitted napkins. Looking around in amusement Harry tentatively touched every object that was unknown to him, read the numbers and writings above the buttons and handles. No, he had definitely grown up in a purely magical house, in a magical family... With the Dark Lord, he suddenly thought and shivered slightly. How terrifying it was to have the tiny pieces of a riddle, but having had forgotten where the bigger, more important ones were. Whenever he tried to think back on his past and the man who raised him - he saw only black, endless darkness and nothing more. Nothingness. 

Frowning to himself he sat down and stared at his first muggle meal. An overdone piece of meat with a black crust on top of it, mashed potatoes, generously covered with something white, that looked like a very fat cream, and a pile of beans in a red sauce. Though his lips twisted in disgust Harry bravely took the fork and, after having had thoroughly inspected it, hesitantly pushed it into the mixture. Did he have an alternative? No. 

You must learn to adjust to the hostile environment, in order to change it eventually to your own liking. This was another lesson he remembered well. Slowly chewing the stone hard meat, feeling very much like a martyr, he wondered who used to cook for him before, that he had developed such an exquisite taste and subconsciously knew which food would he like and which he wouldn't. He doubted that the Dark Lord - if the hushed, awed, fearful tones with which he was described were anything to judge by - had the time for a cooking hobby. Perhaps, he used to have some sort of a servant? These were all pointless guesses - he needed concrete facts. 

Despite being hungry Harry hardly managed to force more than a quarter of everything that was left for him. The food was simply too heavy for his stomach. Not really knowing and, truthfully, not caring if it was a bad tone to leave his plate unfinished in a muggle household he stood up and looked around, trying to comprehend where could the drinks be kept. He could use a glass of water or milk. After five minutes of pointless staring he finally surrendered and opened one cupboard after another, curiously examining their contents. 

How could they have so few ingredients? Perhaps, they didn't know about the potions or were incapable of brewing them? Shaking his head and raising eyebrows skeptically Harry pulled on the door of a strange contraption, that was droning very lowly, quietly. So this was a muggle version of an ice box? Harry found a carton with a word 'milk' written on it and let out a sigh of relief. At least some things never changed in this world. The notion that he was so easily remembering these things brought him comfort too. 

Full and sated he soundlessly walked back into his room. The sight of the blasted bed made him scowl darkly and he grudgingly lowered himself on the broken chair, that creaked dangerously under his weight. "Yeah, if I eat like this for months here I would definitely break it," Harry barked out a low, hoarse laugh and leaned back, staring out of the window. He found he liked to sit in complete darkness with only dim lights coming from the street; darkness calmed and soothed him, brought him comfort that he briefly thought he craved. Lonely, despite having no memories of his life, he felt lonely and it disturbed him greatly. 

He wondered if he used to have friends... lovers? The thought made him smile somewhat shyly to himself, and he leaned on the dusty desk, resting his chin on his crossed arms, and mused dreamily of what might his life had been before. There must have been someone very dear to him, someone he missed and wanted to have by his side. Would he recognize this person if he saw them? What if he wouldn't? Fear crept over him, choking him and freezing his insides. What if it all had been a lie? What of this wasn't even real? No, no, he shook his head, paranoia was not the best option now, he had to keep his mind clear and sane, be rational and careful. Be calm. Every action had its consequences, acting rashly, emotionally was wrong. Patience was his only salvation. 

xxx

A few long, deadly boring days had passed before Vernon and Dudley realized that Harry was indeed harmless and didn't plan on turning them into frogs. It was a fine hot August Sunday, the whole family sat outside in the garden and even Harry decided to take a little of fresh air, smiling slightly at the warm rays of the sun, that caressed his cheeks. He thought he used to love being outside, being free to run as fast as the wind, to climb the trees and watch the birds make their nests. He felt as if everything around him, every flower, every strand of grass was calling for him, pleading him to touch them, to bury his face into the soft soil, to breathe in the scent of the newborn roots and freshly watered petals... Closing his eyes, lulled by the barely audible song, he let a wide, idiotic grin stretch his lips as he swayed dreamily from side to side, sitting on the lower step of the porch and humming in unison with the magical melody. How could muggles live like that, absolutely ignorant of a whole world around them? Magic was everywhere, in every tiny cell, all around them and they simply dismissed it...

"Oi, Dudley, who's that bloke on your porch?" He heard somebody ask in a distance, but decided to ignore it in favour of enjoying the weather.

"M' cousin, he's staying for a while," Dudley drawled nonchalantly, with patronizing superiority in his tone. "He's a looney," he twisted his finger on the side of his head, grimacing at his friend, and the two boys laughed. Harry could only roll his eyes underneath his closed lids and take a deep, calming breath. It wasn't worth it, to let his temper fly because of the two muggle idiots. 

"He's pretty," Dudley's friend said, "Looks like a girl with that long hair. Is he wearing lipstick?" he asked hoarsely, bursting into yet another bout of laughter.

"Don't ask me, I dunno," Dudley joined him, "He's the crazy one, who knows what them crazies do when nobody watches?" 

"Oi, you!" The other boy came closer to Harry, blocking the sun and casting a deep shadow onto him. "Are you a queer?" he asked cheerfully, chuckling as if he said something very clever and funny.

Harry frowned in displeasure and looked up at the scrawny boy with thin, fair hair lying flatly around his pointed, unpleasant face. Trust Dudley to choose a proper friend. "What is a queer?" he asked, imperceptibly caressing the tip of his wand, that was pressed against his right arm under the sleeve of his green, silk shirt. 

Laughing again and nudging Dudley with his elbow the boy stammered through the raspy chuckles of his unsteady, obviously breaking voice, "D' you suck cocks?" He bent down in a fit of hysterical laughter, blushing in both embarrassment and mirth. 

Harry rose up and walked towards the backdoor, throwing over his shoulder, "It is very impolite to ask such an intimate question of somebody you barely know. And no, I don't wear lipstick." 

Having had hidden inside the house, he pressed his back against the door and listened to the others' idiotic laughter. He had had an erotic dream about another man, hadn't he? Did it mean that he was... queer? Rubbing on his upper arms in discomfort and scowling at his toes he tried to distinguish if he preferred... men. Was it so obvious that he did? 

Harry went upstairs and shut his door, secluding himself from the obnoxious muggles. However, the thought about his sexuality kept turning in his mind and he helplessly dropped himself onto the bed, wincing at its loud, unpleasant groan. Had he sucked cocks before, he wondered sarcastically, closing his eyes and trying to imagine the process. The heat spread all over his body, intensified in the area of his abdomen and he blushed fiercely, suddenly aware of his own arousal. How embarrassing it felt. Pushing his hands hastily underneath his trousers Harry felt for his pulsing cock and whimpered meekly at the sensation of its growth and gradual hardening. Stroking it feverishly, hurrying to deal with the problem, he panted and tried to brush away the obtrusive images that suddenly attacked his mind. Other's big hands touching him, a wet, hot mouth taking his cock deep inside and sucking on it harshly; a long, playful tongue teasing his anus... Biting harshly into his own lip to hold back a cry of release, that threatened to escape his chest, Harry came hard, frantically pumping his penis and arching his back, straining every muscle in an overwhelming pleasure, washing over him in waves. 

"Fuuuck," he whispered shakily into his fist, as he coiled on his side, heaving his chest in a deep, unsteady breathing. 

Well, if he was fantasizing about a man giving him a blowjob then he definitely was a queer, he thought, feeling somewhat resigned. Perhaps, if he imagined a woman instead of a man? But as much as he strained his imagination and memory Harry found he knew next to nothing about women in general, about their anatomy especially. They had, what was it called, instead of cocks and they had breasts, yes, their bodies tended to be curved differently... But that was his honest limit. He wondered if he had ever known any woman or girl personally - he probably hadn't. So where did it leave him? He was a queer. 

He didn't care what the muggles thought of it, but felt nervous that he had no idea if it was considered normal in the wizarding society. What if it wasn't? Absentmindedly rubbing on his scar, that he had forgotten to ask about when he had a chance, Harry mused if he was just as different to wizards, as he was weird to muggles. Perhaps he was, if, as they said, he had been thought to be dead for fourteen years. Nothing seemed normal about him and his mysterious life except for the fact that he was a wizard. Oh yes, that Harry deemed to be the most important notion about his own persona, and he loved it, he cherished it and took a great pride in being a wielder of magic. A queer wizard, he reminded himself ruefully, letting out a bitter chuckle. He wished he remembered where had all these erotic fantasies and vague recollections of sensations come from.

An hour later Harry went down to get a snack, for he felt hungry again. He was constantly starving in this place, since he couldn't eat most of the meals that Petunia made and she wasn't going to cook specifically for him, obviously. However, no food was there in the fridge - as he had learned that ice box was called - and he had to go out again, to take whatever was left on a table in the garden. He wasn't going to deprive himself of a necessary nutrition in favour of indulging his sensitive stomach - if he wanted to get out of this alive he would have to make sacrifices. 

"Look, your looney poof's come out again!" Dudley's friend appeared by Harry's side, smiling smugly at him. "Wanna suck my cock?" he laughed, grabbing on his own crotch mockingly. 

"Come on, Piers, not in front of m' parents," Dudley hissed at him and gave him a pointed glare, but the boy simply shrugged it off.

"What's your name, pretty? How much do you cost?" Piers giggled idiotically, watching Harry humorously, baiting him.

Harry slowly cut a small piece of meat and placed it onto his plate, added the sauce and a few leaves of salad - the only kind of a green product present. "It seems you are obsessed with male genitals, really impatient to get thoroughly blown," he drawled, not looking up at them but pouring water into his glass, "Why, perhaps, you want Dudders to suck you off, but you are too shy to ask your friend, hmm?" 

"What?!" both Piers and Dudley sputtered. 

"Why, don't you find your friend attractive? You would have paid a lot for Dudley to suck you, wouldn't you, Piers?" Harry batted his eyelashes at the other innocently and put a small bite of meat into his mouth, licking on his lips seductively. 

"You're crazy!" Piers stared at him in horror, "You're a dirty liar! Don't believe him, Dudley, he's talking bullshit!" he cried, shaking his friend by the fat shoulder. 

"I think Dudders is flattered," Harry shrugged carelessly, and chewed on another tiny piece, "Judging by how persistent you are with the topic you must be desperate," he shook his head indulgently and stepped away, planning to finish his meal in loneliness inside the kitchen.

"You, freak!" Dudley cried, jumping at him, waving his fat fists in all directions, "Piers and I are normal blokes!" 

"What is going on here?" Vernon growled, coming towards them, fanning himself and breathing heavily. Harry had already gone inside by that moment, suddenly curious why hadn't he seen any Aurors, that were supposed to guard him. Either they were very good, or they didn't deem it necessary to spy on him constantly? Perhaps, today he could test his magic limits here? 

"That freak called us poofs, Mr Dursley!" Piers hurried to tell the sweating man. 

Harry calmly finished his modest meal when Vernon stormed inside and bellowed, spatting his saliva all around, "How dare you, bastard! How dare you insult my own son and his friend in my house?!" His face turned a precarious shade of purple and Harry briefly wondered if the man was going to have a heart attack this very second. 

"I never insulted anybody, uncle," he pressed a paper napkin against his lips, "I simply reflected on their inappropriate behavior." 

"I'm not you uncle!!!"

"Thank the gods and the spirits and Merlin for that," Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation and dutifully put the dishes away into the sink.

"Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that, ah?!" Vernon grabbed him on his thin arm harshly, painfully squeezing it, digging his sausages of fingers deeply into his tender skin. "You're freak, just like those useless parents of yours! You're ungrateful piece of shit! We took you in, gave you our food and this is how you pay us?!"

Scowling Harry tried to break free. "Dumbledore had already paid you, I have done nothing wrong. Let me go!" But the man's hold was too strong, all of his attempts were fruitless. 

"I think you need to learn a lesson! How about I beat your freakishness out of you?" Vernon screeched, hastily tugging on his old, leather belt.

"What," Harry peered into his small, piggy eyes mockingly, "Are you going to belt me? Is this how you teach your son?" 

"My son doesn't need to be taught, he's a normal man!" His uncle pulled the belt out completely and raised his hand to bring a blow down, however, it never moved. 

"Let me go, if you do not want this belt to slap across your face instead of mine," Harry hissed coldly, narrowing his eyes at the other, who was watching him very much like a rabbit watches a snake. His fingers slowly unfurled and Harry jerked his bruised arm away, clicking his tongue at the sight of the ugly marks. 

"You're not allowed to use magic here!" Vernon wheezed, as his obese body trembled in a pointless attempt to move and get to the boy. Everything except for the fingers of his free hand and his face was frozen. 

"Let us wait and see about that," Harry murmured thoughtfully, listening in to the sounds of Aurors coming to arrest him, or maybe those wizards whom he had seen at Sirius' house... There were none. Five minutes passed and yet there was nothing, no alarms going off, no people breaking in, nothing. "It seems I was once again misinformed," he drawled and pulled his wand out.

"Don't you dare! That old idiot said you were prohibit-" Vernon's mouth was sealed - his lips disappeared and his jaws snapped weakly, being confined by the skin, that was tightly wrapping them. 

He waited five minutes more and yet again nothing happened. "Now, this is an evident progress. And I feared I might die of boredom here long before the Dark Lord finds me," Harry chuckled, shaking his head, and pointed his wand at Vernon's crotch. "This is going to be a little secret of ours, uncle. Do not tell Petunia and Dudders of my sudden luck, if you don't want your son to get the taste of your cock, instead of Piers's. Are we clear on that?" 

Glaring at him fearfully and hatefully Vernon growled in affirmation. 

"Splendid. Do carry on with your exciting life, I have a business of my own to attend to," Harry smiled brilliantly at him and left, waving his wand on his way out of the kitchen, grinning evilly to himself at the sound of a body falling with a loud thump, and of a dirty swearing echoing mere seconds later. 

As soon as he got into his room he sealed the door, just in case Vernon was too thick to understand a threat from the first time. Now that he could freely use magic here he could finally start plotting on his escape and his memory restoration. Harry looked out of the window, surveying the grounds, but no sign of another wizard could be seen. Perhaps, only harmful and illegal magic could be detected here? "It is not like I am going to torture them, though," he muttered under his breath, waving his wand over the cot and tapping his bare foot impatiently on the floor, as he tried to remember the right spell. Finally it came to him and he pushed the tip of his wand against the bed - a proper mattress appeared and he gratefully fell onto it, groaning in delight. Now his back wasn't going to hurt at nights anymore. 

xxx

Packing at the Spinner's End had always been a difficult, exhausting affair. Usually very tidy, disciplined and organized at Hogwarts Severus often found himself falling as low as one of the Weasleys at this wretched place - existing in a complete chaos and finding it normal. Grumping under his breath he hastily searched for the lessons' plans he had prepared weeks ago, but couldn't for the life of him find where had he put them.

"Already going back, under the old coot's wing?" He jerked at the sound of a cold, low voice and turned sharply on his heels to meet the heavy gaze of the blood red eyes, that were gleaming menacingly in the darkness of a hall.

"My lord," Severus fell on his knees, inwardly cursing himself for being so slow. He should have moved back to school three days ago, and there was no significant reason as to why he never had. "I didn't expect visitors..."

"Obviously," Voldemort drawled, coming into the light and looking around disdainfully. "Do not worry, Severus, I am here simply to inquire after the latest news, since my house has been destroyed and there is temporarily no place for all of us to meet..." He pushed a few boxes out of his way with his bare foot and gracefully lowered himself onto an old, puffy sofa, waving his hand weakly to banish the dust. 

"News, my lord?" Severus rose up and folded his hands behind his back, as he always did, twisting his fingers painfully between each other - it was obvious the Dark Lord wasn't interested in the latest curriculum improvements. "I don't know where the child is."

Peering into the black, void of any emotions eyes Voldemort pondered over how should he behave himself. Certainly, they all were aware of where Harry had spent his life - it was impossible to not realize the simple truth when the boy was kidnapped right out of his own manor. There was also no doubts that they expected him to search for Harry, therefore, he must have been hidden very well, if neither he, nor Daedalus could reach out for the child. 

"You are the last person to ask, Severus, really. Dumbledore never tells you anything, probably knows how unreliable and rotten you are," he sighed, feigning disinterest. "What I wish to know is what is going on at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Severus echoed softly, befuddled. He was sure his master would torture him to extract every tiny bit of information about Potter, yet here he was, asking him about a bloody school, of all things. "What exactly would you like to know?"

"You see," Voldemort crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap, taking a more relaxed, uncaring posture for the potions master to see, "Since most of my high ranking Death Eaters were discovered and are now hiding from the Ministry I am curious to know what would happen to their children should they choose to continue their education, and if Dumbledore hired any suspicious teachers to bring our beloved House down completely and irreversibly."

Raising his eyebrows in a mild surprise and honest relief Severus cleared his throat and squared his shoulders slightly, gaining courage. "The situation is truly tragic, master. I believe that none of the students would come back to Hogwarts, fearing your wrath and the light's retribution. Hence, there would hardly be ten slytherins in attendance. As for the staff, there were no significant changes. The headmaster hired only one new teacher," he couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at that and stretched his lips in a pained, sour smile, "Though this wizard can't be even called a teacher, in all honesty."

"Who might it be?" he asked hollowly, anticipating to get the answer. If his calculations were right, there were going to be indeed very few slytherins this year, which meant that Harry could be transferred into the school to be kept under the Order's watchful eye, safe from the Death Eaters' hands. Since the DADA position was still cursed, this year also wasn't going to be an exception and Dumbledore was bound to find a new teacher. 

"Gilderoy Lockhart," Severus hissed venomously. "If you fear that the headmaster might have found somebody who could torture the snakes, then your worries are for naught, my lord. This man is hardly a wizard at all - nothing but a fraud. However, if you think of that, he will torture us all with his, no doubt, most endearing persona." 

Oh yes, he knew of Lockhart. Harry had told him all about the man's atrocious books, full of lies and utter rubbish, incorrect spells and twisted facts... The thought of a raven haired boy sent an unpleasant pang into his heart. He missed his lovely Harry so much, he missed holding him in his arms, kissing his red lips and hearing a ringing laughter escaping them. Harry read every new book on Defenses and Curses that were being sold, striving to learn more and to develop his powers and skills even further, only to please him, Voldemort... 

"I have never heard of that man," he arched his eyebrows imperiously. 

"He is a pathetic imbecile," Severus sneered, scowling at the dust, that floated in the thick air.

"Oh, jealous, Severus, aren't we?" Voldemort chuckled. He knew how much the potions master wanted this position and how stubbornly Dumbledore kept rejecting his application. "Do not worry, the curse would deal with him, just as it always did with his predecessors."

He glanced at the warlock and pursed his lips in displeasure. "As much as it pains me to admit this, my lord, I could never distinguish the nature of this rather strange curse, I can't understand how does it work and what does it do to those who take the position. Nothing seems to be happening to them during the whole year and yet they all hurriedly leave by the beginning of the summer, very much like rats leave a sinking ship."

"Who knows, Severus, who knows? If you knew who had cursed it in the first place, perhaps, you would have known what to do in order to break it," Voldemort smiled cruelly, inwardly laughing at the wizard's blindness. 

Certainly, Dumbledore would have never told anybody that the position was cursed by the Dark Lord himself - there would have never been another teacher in the school in any position - and so they all foolishly believed it to be yet another one of Hogwarts’ mysteries, that every newcomer hoped to solve. He will have to help this Lockhart, surely, Harry would appreciate his sense of humour. 

"I see..." he sighed and stood up sharply, once again startling the potions master. "In that case I will be working on a way of hiding my faithful followers and restoring their dignity and social image, I still need my spies to be everywhere. I will call for you soon, Severus, we would be in need of your services." He turned his back to the man and a wide, feral grin appeared on his face. They all were going to play a very interesting game indeed.

"Yes, master," Severus bowed and exhaled loudly when the warlock vanished out of sight. 

What was this all about, was the Dark Lord truly worried for his servants, whom he always treated like scum, for their children? Why wasn't he asking after the boy? Perhaps, he was certain that Potter would be able to come back to him on his own? He obviously wasn't aware of the amnesia the wretched boy had suffered, otherwise he would have raised Hell already. Groaning Severus proceeded to hastily pack his belongings. This was an information he had to pass on to Dumbledore, the sooner the better. 

xxx

"There are no signs that a hostage is being held in the house or that there is anybody else beside my cousin, my lord," Narcissa told him, as she gracefully walked by his side in the vast garden around the Malfoy Manor. 

"I expected that much," Voldemort sighed, twirling a withered flower in his hands, "They would have never placed him with one of the Order's members, or teachers from Hogwarts. I am sure Dumbledore would have rather hidden him at Severus' house if it wasn't that dangerous..."

"Master, I can't wrap my mind about the fact that Harry Potter lived all these years under your care," Lucius, who was walking by his other side, shook his head, shivering under a blow of a wind, and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. He had been hiding somewhere on the isles for two weeks after the unfortunate battle at the Riddle Manor and got himself a pneumonia. The elves had nursed him to a better state when he returned, of course, however, he still felt very weak and very cold all the time, even though it was hot and sunny outside. "Why haven't you told any of us? We could have kept him safe for you."

"Be careful, Lucius, I do trust you and like you, but even my favour has its limits when it comes to the lengths you can take in being familiar with me," he growled lowly and crumpled the flower between his fingers irritably. "I did what I had to do, it was imperative that every one of you, especially Severus, therefore you as well, as his only friend and confidant, saw the boy die from my hand. Severus is a traitor, don't even try to lie to me and to convince me of the opposite - you and I both know very well where had his loyalties always lain."

Nodding his head in surrender and sighing Lucius lowered his eyes. "Forgive me, my lord. I am simply... Shocked. I was absolutely certain that you killed the child and that nothing posed a threat to you and your reign anymore."

"But the boy isn't a threat to me," Voldemort said and twisted his lips in an unpleasant smile, when both Malfoys stared at him in astonishment. "I raised him, Lucius, I raised him as my heir and my faithful servant, the boy is a dark wizard and would never dare to even think of hurting me."

"But... But now that he is in the Light's hands, he is in danger and you are as well, my lord!" Narcissa gasped, pressing her weak hand to her chest. "What if they killed him?"

"I am most certain they would not," he drawled, rubbing on his chin thoughtfully. "He is still the child of the prophecy, he is still their Savior, Dumbledore would do everything in his power to turn him against me - it gives us time, more importantly, it gives the boy a chance. Do not doubt him, I made him into an intelligent and a cunning wizard, they would not be able to break him." 

"And you took Daedalus then to help care for him, my lord?" Lucius asked somewhat uncertainly, obviously still shaken with the idea.

"The elf proved to be a perfect servant, Lucius, I have to thank you for him. I am very pleased with him and with what he did for the boy." 

He watched the broken petals on his palm and scowled at the horrible ache in his chest, at the chains that gripped his heart in a vice. He remembered everything, every day of all these fourteen years spent with Harry. Potion lessons, evenings spent together at the fireplace with books and long talks, Harry's first time flying on a broom, his first birthday present that the boy gave him, their first duel... Their first kiss. Their every night together in bed. He wanted to roar, he wanted to get rid of the pent up frustration, both mental and sexual, he wanted to torture and kill endlessly, ruthlessly, senselessly, until his Harry was returned to him. But he knew he couldn't, his dear boy would have never approved of this, besides, it was fruitless and indeed inefficient... 

"But why have you saved him, master?" The blonde wizard asked him, the befuddlement clearly evident in his pale grey eyes.

"It was a perfect revenge on the Light," he shrugged his shoulders carelessly. Nobody was going to know of horcruxes except for him and Harry, and Daedalus. "Instead of killing him I made him into what they despise and fear the most." 

"But how is it possible that they are capable of hiding him from you so well, my lord?" Lucius creased his brow, shuddering slightly again. "If he is as loyal to you as you say and if he is as smart and powerful, why hasn't he contacted you yet? It has been three weeks now since he was abducted." 

"This is the most important question right now, Lucius," Voldemort sighed tiredly, throwing the remains of the flower onto the ground, feeling the devastating sadness tearing his already maimed soul into shreds. "I have no doubts of his loyalty, I trust him. Completely. His silence leads me to a conclusion that something must have happened to him, or that they must have done something to him in order to prevent him from returning to me. This is what worries me. Greatly." 

Lucius and Narcissa shared an equally perplexed, surprised look, hearing the unexpected, unusual, completely foreign undertones in their master's voice: a sudden gentleness and a badly covered fear. The great warlock cared for the boy much more than he showed. 

"What kind of a young man he is, I wonder," Narcissa murmured curiously. "He must be sixteen now, just like our darling Draco. Oh, what a tender age! What if they would use his own youth and inexperience against him?" she gasped, looking fearfully at the Dark Lord, suddenly realizing how hard must it have been for him to lose his child. However cruel and cold he seemed, she was certain that fourteen years of raising and caring for a boy changed him, made him more humane. For the first time in her long servitude she found she genuinely liked her master and sympathized with his grief. For the first time she saw him as a man, not a leader or a murderer. 

"He is a very intelligent child," he said dismissively, "Capable of adjusting to any environment. I taught him magic, dueling, the art of potion brewing, the art of spell and curse crafting and both Occlumency and Legilimency. He is a slytherin through and through, nobody would be able to influence him," he finished confidently, proudly, tardily noticing how wide were the eyes of his two followers, how stupid were the small smiles, that appeared on their faces.

Lucius chuckled into his curled hand, coughing softly, "It is only logical, master, that you would be proud of your own work. We know very well how hard it is to raise a child."

"Especially a boy," Narcissa agreed, smiling broadly, since the Dark Lord wasn't reaching for his wand to curse her for her folly but simply kept on walking and brooding, looking rather... embarrassed. "Do not worry, I am sure he will return to you soon, master."

"Perhaps..." Lucius suddenly stopped and raised his eyebrows in a mild surprise as an idea came to his mind. Both Voldemort and Narcissa halted and turned to look at him expectantly. "Perhaps," he cleared his throat, "Dumbledore hid him in the last place we would think of searching?"

Furrowing his brow in annoyance, ready to tell Malfoy how very fast and cognizant he was, having had just drawn the most obvious conclusion, Voldemort opened his mouth, but the unexpectedly cunning and bright expression of Lucius' face made him close it again, for he had suddenly understood. "Are you trying to tell me he must be hidden amongst muggles?" 

"It is very plausible, my lord. I would have never thought of it, really, taking in consideration that you were the one to raise the boy, therefore he is definitely not very fond of them... However, his mother was a mudblood. Cissy, do you remember her family?" he looked up at his wife, who was already pacing back and forth, twisting her fingers, as she strained her memory.

"Yes, I think there were a mother and a second daughter," she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to replay the events of the so long forgotten past. "I remember I thought how completely different they were, how much her magic distanced her from her muggle sister... " She looked up at her lord, whose eyes watched her very intently, "Their mother was killed in a raid in the year when the boy and Draco were born, master. I know that for sure, since it was Bella who did it. However, now that I think about it she never told me that she killed anybody else then. And as I recall the mudblood's sister never came to see her off to school or back to London in the last two years..."

"Blood wards. They would have placed him there and put up the blood wards, since they are related," Voldemort concluded gravely, already frantically plotting in his head. How truly ingenious the old coot's plan was, to keep Harry amongst filthy muggles of all the possible candidates! How humiliating it must have been for his boy... "If they risked putting him there then they have certainly destroyed any evidence there was in the ministry's files that his mother has any relatives."

"Severus would know the woman's name, they all grew up together," Lucius sighed. His and Severus' friendship was slowly turning into the ash of their shared past. He would have never put a life of his friend above the lives of his family and his own. The Dark Lord was obviously confident of his invincibility, therefore, Lucius didn't have to choose a side, he simply had to stay faithful and stay alive to see the better future, in which his son would bloom. 

"No need to alert them, no need to interrogate that traitor," Voldemort hissed and suddenly burst into a harsh, cold laughter. "They have dared to use blood magic to hide him, fell so low as to use the darkest of arts against me - I will simply use it to find him. I have his blood in abundance," he rasped and sharply turned around and strode back to the manor, leaving the two flabbergasted Malfoys behind. 

"Do you think it would be safer to send Draco to Hogwarts for the time being?" Narcissa whispered, looking back at her husband.

"No. The Dark Lord has been inquiring a lot about Hogwarts lately, he is definitely planning to pay Dumbledore back for taking the child from him. It is best if we sent Draco abroad to your relatives," Lucius took her hand into his cold, trembling ones and kissed her warm palm. "Something tells me we should join our son there at some point."

He burst into his bedroom and flickered his fingers to summon Daedalus. "Bring me my brewing instruments, these ingredients," he hastily scribbled down the names on a random piece of parchment, "And a small wooden box marked as "harry" from his chest - be careful, it contains his blood." The elf simply nodded and instantly vanished, hurrying to complete the task. 

Suddenly drained and weak Voldemort fell back on the chair and stared unseeingly at his hands, that lay still on the desk. What if he found Harry now? He could take him and forget all about his plan. But what if something had truly happened? He still couldn't reach out for the boy's consciousness, and the more time passed the more agitated, the more frightened he became. Losing Harry seemed absolutely impossible, unbearable, inadmissible... 

He had never had anybody dear to him, anybody precious, how could he survive the loss - he couldn't imagine it, he couldn't believe that for once in his long, bitter life he had found happiness and was helpless and useless now that it had been taken from him. Hiding his face in his hands he groaned exhaustedly and pushed his long fingers into his tangled, messy hair, shaking in rage and desperation. No, no, he would not let them hurt him like that, he would not let them take Harry - Harry belonged to him, completely and eternally, he had marked him, he had raised him, he had made him... He wanted him, like he had never wanted another human being. Harry was his curse and his blessing. His and his alone. 

Daedalus appeared with a soft pop and stood obediently by his side, holding the necessary supplies in his small hands. "Master?" he asked tentatively, looking pityingly at the hunched back, at the heartbroken expression on the pale face of the Dark Lord, who grew more and more devastated and psychotic with every day he spent apart from the boy.

"Yes, put all this on the desk and prepare the cauldron for the brewing," Voldemort muttered, rising up and shaking off his robe. "Let's deal with it as fast as it is possible. The sooner we find Harry, the sooner we would know what is wrong with him." 

They set to work and didn't share a word or a glance, except for the times when the warlock gave Daedalus instructions as to how to cut what and what to add. Although he wasn't versed in potions, especially in such intricate and dangerous as this one, the old elf knew it must have been darkest of the magics, strongest and most destructive. His master carefully took one vial with Harry's blood out of the box and poured its contents into the concoction that was boiling feverishly, producing thick, yellowish smoke that filled the room and poisoned the air. 

"Get me the map of England and a piece of chalk. We will try to search for him here first." 

Voldemort drew a wide circle on the floor, marked the runes on four sides of cardinals and placed the map in the middle of it. Daedalus passed him a small, mineral pendant on a long cord and dutifully sat down on his knees, watching in awe as his master dipped the trinket into the potion and then held it above the map, chanting the latin words. His voice was hollow and distant, as if it belonged to somebody else, and his red eyes glazed, losing their focus and light. The air around them seemed to vibrate slightly and the pendant started rocking, slowly at first, but with every new word it gained more speed, its motion turned sharper, wider. Soon it was spinning frantically and when Voldemort dropped it down, like the whipping top it moved across the surface of the map, leaving a blooded trace behind, only to stop at the word 'Surrey' written to the south from 'London'. 

"Hiding in plain sight," Voldemort breathed out and waved his hand to open the windows and let the fresh air inside. Coughing at the foul smell, that spread from the cauldron, he dipped the pendant into the potion once more. "Find the map of Surrey, we might be able to locate him down to the very house."

After another ten minutes of chanting and rocking and spinning the trinket pointed at the Little Whinging's Private Drive. "The irony," he huffed, "From Little Hangleton he moves to Little Whinging." Voldemort sighed and stretched his neck, closing his eyes tiredly. "The house is protected stronger than I anticipated, but I am certain you would be able to find it, knowing the name of the street," he told Daedalus, who was vehemently nodding his head, itching to go there immediately and find his young master. "Search for the house that feels wrong. It would look absolutely normal, perhaps, even more ordinary than others, it wouldn't seem to fit - this is exactly how the blood wards work. They are created to shield from those who wish you harm. Although they are useless against us in our case I have no way of knowing which other wards were placed there. As an elf you are capable of penetrating most of them, since this is not a magical family and they don't have a magical seal."

"Yes, master!" The old elf sprang up on his feet. "What should I tell master Harry?" 

"Firstly and most importantly you must find out what is the cause of his silence, why can't I reach him. Be careful," Voldemort warned him, coming closer and peering into his huge, brown eyes, "Watch out for traps and seemingly harmless objects. Do not say too much, just make sure he is unharmed. Return immediately and report." 

Daedalus jerked his head and disappeared. All there was left for Voldemort now was waiting.

xxx

Another week had passed just as slowly and boringly. Now that he had magic Harry cleared the room of all the rubbish and dust, but other than that he hadn't done anything else. His situation depressed him and he struggled through terrible mood swings, when at one moment he seemed somewhat calm and uncaring, and at another he felt anger boiling inside him and all he could think of was sex and his own incapability of satisfying his hunger. Wanking didn't really work for him, for he didn't have enough memories to help him come better, more pleasantly, the right way, as he thought he was used to. Once, in one particularly strong bout of dark brooding he even contemplated to make Dudley suck him off simply to try something different and sate his ravenous body, but of course he banished this atrocious thought a second later, after he imagined the process in all its detail - at least he knew now how to make his cock flaccid. 

He was also angry at himself for waiting for Dumbledore's promised letter and potions. Angry, because on one hand he was so naive as to even believe the old man, and on the other he was simply desperate. Having no clear, complete memories and being left in an isolation was absolutely terrible. Harry prayed, he didn't know to whom, that he had gotten at least one letter, heard from at least one human being, preferably a wizard, who knew the real him and cared for his well-being. He saw Petunia get her mail from a box at the road and wondered if wizards had the same way of getting theirs, or if there was a completely different one which he, obviously, didn't remember? 

Only by the end of his third week of living here had Harry finally seen one of the Aurors, who guarded him. It was a young woman, who wore her hair in all colours of rainbow, changing them constantly and whistling a plain melody all the time. Perhaps, she thought he wouldn't notice her, hidden in the thick crown of a tree, that overlooked the whole lawn, but Harry sensed her magic. Were there others before her? If there were then why hadn't he known of their presence? Did they hide better or knew how to conceal their auras? The next few days he spent in a careful watching. 

As it turned out they had been there all this time, taking turns every twelve hours. Each Auror had his own style of blending in with the environment and it was impossible to tell how unless one knew what to look for. Harry concluded that the wards for magic were limited by the house's walls and prevented his guards to detect its usage from outside. Having had solved this riddle Harry once again fell into a permanent depressive slumber. There were a few books in the room, which turned out to be fairy tales and poem compilations, but he was glad to read whatever there was to at least busy himself with something... But they didn't last, he read so fast he finished them all in just two days. 

Sighing he went outside, thinking that he might find Dudley and prank him at least. He was so bored he even entertained the idea of talking to one of the Aurors, however, thought better of it. He needed to be cautious. But not with muggles.

"Oi, here is the faggot!" he heard Piers yell at his back and turned around to smile at the two inseparable friends.

"Cry louder, Piers, or nobody will hear you," he chuckled and sat down on the lounger.

"I bet dad beat you senseless the last time," Dudley huffed, smiling wickedly, "Didn't have the guts to come down until now, did ya?" 

"I am bored, Dudders, I don't know what else to do here," Harry sighed, leaning forward on his elbows and watching the two teenagers innocently. "Perhaps, we could all play together?"

"Play?" Piers scoffed, however, there was a traitorously obvious, hungry gleam in his eyes. He was intrigued. "How old are you? Six?" 

"There are children's games and there are those suitable only for adults," he arched his eyebrows and stretched his lips in one particular smile he knew would make them step closer. And they did, oh yes they did. 

"What kind of a freakish game are you hinting at?" Dudley muttered, cowardly looking around for any signs of his parents. 

"The one you both would find very interesting and... rewarding," Harry laughed softly and crooked his finger at his cousin. "Come closer, I will tell you a secret." 

Swallowing nervously and throwing an uncertain glance at Piers, who made a show of looking bored and completely ignorant to what was going on, Dudley hesitantly stepped to stand next to Harry. 

"So, Dudders," he smiled, watching out for the Auror. The man left his post and walked a few meters away to take a piss, while waiting for his colleague to arrive. This was a perfect moment. "Imperio," Harry whispered, pushing his wand between the rolls of fat on the boy's side. Dudley's watery blue eyes froze and unfocused, very much like he had expected, and Harry murmured into his ear lowly, "Make Piers happy."

"What are you two talking about?" the other boy finally asked, watching them impatiently.

"I have explained the rules of the game," Harry shrugged his shoulders and lay back in the lounger, prepared to watch, "Enjoy!"

"Enjoy what?" Piers grimaced, looking at the raven haired boy as if he had gone nuts. But before he managed to say something offensive Dudley came up to him and kissed him on his lips. "Oi! What are you doing?!" he pushed the obese body away, rubbing on his mouth, but his friend stubbornly kept advancing at him and salivating his lips and cheeks, everything his plump lips could reach for. "Stop it! Stop!" Piers hissed vehemently, but Dudley only kneeled in front of him and sharply pushed Piers' sweatpants down to his ankles. 

Harry had to help his cousin by making Piers' feet stuck to the ground but it was nothing in comparison with the display. The thin boy fought Dudley, who pulled him on his small penis and blubbered horrible, incomprehensible nonsense, that sounded very dirty and very seductive in his opinion. "Let me make you happy, mate, let me blow ya," he pleaded and, as Piers fell back on the ground under his weight, plunged his mouth at the half hard flesh and sucked on it with such severity and enthusiasm that Harry couldn't help but laugh into his fist, shaking harshly. 

"What is goi- Oh god! What are you doing, Dudders?!" Vernon screeched, stumbling back, horrified, at the sight of his son almost biting a cock off, while Piers stopped struggling and was moaning and crying in both long desired pleasure and embarrassment. 

Harry pressed his both hands against his laughing mouth, as he stealthily crawled away into the shadows, and watched his uncle try to tear Dudley away from the ejaculating teenager. The fat boy fought his father and tried to reach for the semen, while Piers, snapped out of his lustful haze, was weeping on the ground and swearing to Mr Dursley that he never wanted that and never once asked Dudley to do that, that they weren't poofs... 

"Stop this instant!" Vernon bellowed, slapping his son on the fat cheeks, but it was fruitless.

Rubbing off the tears of mirth Harry walked around the house to enter through the front door, noticing that the Auror, whose turn was to guard him now, was watching the scene with wide eyes and his jaw hanging down. No doubt he was going to tell all about the muggles' games to his fellow officers back at the Ministry. Chuckling to himself Harry went upstairs and into his room, locking the door behind himself, however, when he looked out and proceeded to watch the drama on the lawn, he suddenly realized that it wasn't funny anymore. He was once again bored. 

How was he going to survive here any longer? What if Dumbledore decided to leave him here for an even longer period? But this was suicidal. Or criminal. He would definitely start torturing Dursleys at some point, he bitterly mused, lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Perhaps, he could leave the property and test his limits there? How far will he manage to go before they would know? 

"I will fucking kill you!" Vernon's voice suddenly boomed behind his door, as the man started banging on the wood that creaked weakly under his hard, heavy blows. "Step out of this room and I will throttle you, you bloody devil! How dare you bewitch my boy?! How could you do that to him?! You will pay! You will fucking pay!" 

"Yeah, yeah, can't wait," Harry scoffed and tuned him out with a twist of his wrist. 

He discovered he could do simple magic even without a wand. How truly powerful was he? What else was he capable of? Using one of the Unforgivables was rather curious, satisfying even, but not that much. It took a lot of time to remember the Imperio, and he thought it probably was the least harmful of the three. No alarms went off when he used it, perhaps, because there was no harmful intent behind his actions? The door finally stopped trembling. Vernon got tired and went away. Heaving another longing sigh Harry closed his eyes. But the sleep never came. 

The sun was setting and the evening gloom filled his room when a quiet tapping on the window made him look up sharply. There was a small owl with a letter and a parcel in its claws. "An owl post?" Harry sat up, smiling idiotically. Somehow the notion seemed to be absolutely normal and right and very odd and ridiculous at the same time. He carefully pulled on the shutter and waved his wand to untie the package and to set the bird free. It hooted at him, seemingly waiting for some kind of a treat, but Harry only smiled apologetically at it and the owl angrily took off.

He didn't remember how was he supposed to check the mail for curses, though he had a strong belief he had to do that. Remembering the warded box at Sirius' house he hovered over the envelopes and tried to feel for the traces of magic, for anything that resembled the sensations he had already experienced. There were none. Hesitantly he pulled on the chord of the parcel and unwrapped the brown paper - there was an ordinary wooden box inside, underneath its lid there were several vials of identical potions. Putting them away for the time being he lighted up his wand and carefully opened the letter and read,

Dear Harry,

Forgive me for making you wait for so long, but as the headmaster of a magical school I was held up by a countless amount of different problems that demanded my attention as well, I hope you would understand. I send you the promised nutritious potions, which, I am certain, would help you restore your health faster and would support your stomach in a battle with Petunia's cooking. I do hope you will look after yourself!

I would also like to inform you, that on the afternoon of the 1st of September Sirius would take you to Hogwarts. I hate to deprive you of the famous, most impressive train ride through the whole country from London to the village of Hogsmeade, but it is purely out of taking yours and others' safety into consideration. You would arrive into school directly from Sirius' house. Do not worry about the necessary supplies - your godfather has purchased and prepared everything for you.

I hope you are enjoying your stay with your relatives,

Sincerely yours,

A. D.

Well at least he was going to the magical school, full of wizards and witches, full of people like him. Where the magic could be used freely, where there was a lot to do and, undoubtedly, a library to read up on everything he couldn't remember. Sighing in overwhelming relief he threw the letter onto the table and opened one of the vials to smell its contents - the scent was particularly horrible and he briefly wondered if that man, Severus Snape, who, as they said, was a potions master, had brewed this for him. He wouldn't be surprised if that was true. Finding nothing suspicious about the potion he tasted it with the tip of his tongue and rolled the liquid around in his mouth, examining it. It felt right. Satisfied he gulped down it all and put the empty vial away. A pleasant coolness spread around his stomach and he smiled to himself, feeling a tiny bit better already.

Harry lay back and read the letter once again. The other business took Dumbledore three weeks to send him this - was there really anything more important than a wizard, who was prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort? Not that he was going to, but the fact remained. Grimacing at the paper Harry crumpled it and banished it with a slight movement of his index finger. He regretted now that he hadn't read that book about Hogwarts that Sirius offered him, he couldn't remember a thing about it, probably because he had never been there before. But he should have at least heard about it, he was a wizard after all.

"Master Harry!" He heard a quiet whisper and sat up sharply, pointing his wand at the darkest corner of the room.

"Who is there?" Harry murmured lowly, flickering his fingers to turn the lightbulb on. He widened his eyes at the sight of a strange creature, that stood there and watched him with its huge, wet eyes. It was small, like a child he thought, its dark, greyish skin was wrinkled and huge, floppy ears kept jerking slightly, fearfully. It looked very much like a distorted man from a nightmare. "Who are you?"

"It is me, master!" The creature took a hesitant step forward, but hastily fell down on its knees when Harry stood up sharply and squeezed his wand tighter, warningly. "Daedalus, your house elf!" 

"A house elf?" Harry tilted his head, staring at the creature in astonishment. "Why do you call me a master?"

"Because you are my master! I am your servant! Don't you remember your good old Daedalus?" the creature looked up at him and fat tears streamed down its small, old face. "How can it be, master? What happened to you?"

Blinking dumbly at the wailing elf Harry tried to gather his thoughts and understand what was going on. "I have amnesia, I don't remember anything," he admitted. Somehow, subconsciously he felt that this strange creature was harmless to him, he felt compelled to tell him the truth. All of it.

"Oh, Merlin!" Daedalus gasped and wept harder, sobbing he hastily crawled closer and started kissing the boy's bare feet. "My poor, poor master! My poor little lord!" 

Perplexed and a little embarrassed Harry tried to step away, but the elf kept kissing his toes and stroking them lovingly, gently, with a practiced ease. Could it really be? Had he truly had an elf servant before? 

"Please, stop." 

"Forgive me, master Harry! It is such a grief, such a tragedy!" Daedalus looked up, folding his hands in a praying gesture in front of his small chest, staring at him adoringly. "What would our master say?! It would break his heart!" he sobbed harshly, shaking. 

"Our master?" Harry raised his eyebrows in bewilderment. Was he somebody else's slave too? 

"The Dark Lord," Daedalus nodded humbly, rubbing on his eyes with the hem of his red dress. "Your master and your mentor, my little lord." 

Harry sat down heavily on the bed and stared at the elf in shock and confusion. So he was a lord after all, he had his personal servant and had a mentor, who was the Dark Lord Voldemort himself. "How have you found me?" he finally grasped on a more rational thought.

"Our master is a brilliant warlock, but even he has his limits. Forgive him that it took so long, little lord," Daedalus mumbled pitifully, inching closer and carefully stroking the boy's knee. "As soon as he knew where to look for you he sent me to find you and check on your health. I see that you are unharmed, but your condition..." He wailed again and thew himself at Harry's leg, embracing it tightly. "I feared so much that you would get hurt, my master! You are so young, so kindhearted, I feared what they might do you!" he kept blubbering through harsh, shuddering sobs.

Harry's heart ached at the sight of an obviously crushed elf, he couldn't help but feel teary himself, for the creature's torment was unbearable. Sniffing and rubbing on his already running nose he tentatively patted the elf's head with the tips of his fingers, "Please, stop crying."

"Forgive me, master," Daedalus hastily cleaned his face and pulled away, taking a submissive, obedient posture. "Please, tell me that nothing has been done to you? Have these muggles hurt you?"

"I am fine, thank you," he bit on his lower lip, suddenly very sad and very happy at the same time. There was somebody who knew him! Somebody who knew the real him, who cared for him and wished him to come home. He had a home after all. But couldn't remember it. "My uncle tried, but was unsuccessful, of course." 

"Of course," Daedalus smiled ruefully through his tears, once again stroking Harry's knee, "You are such a powerful, such a talented young warlock, they are nothing but a dust underneath your feet, master." 

"Am I a dark wizard?" Harry suddenly inquired, seeing that he had an opportunity to ask someone who had spent a lot of time with him.

"Oh, but of course, of course, master," the elf nodded his head vehemently, proudly. 

"And I am a lord?" 

"Yes! Lord Potter and a future lord Voldemort!" 

Harry jerked at that, staring at the creature. "Am I... The Dark Lord's son in... Son-in-law?" 

Daedalus seemed to consider his answer for a moment, suddenly embarrassed to tell the truth. "No, master, you are his named heir, that is all. He never raised you as his son, but as his friend," he murmured quietly, lowering his eyes coyly.

"A friend?" Harry held his breath, swallowing hard the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Could it be? Did he really have a friend? No, no, he shook his head, sobering up and pulling himself together, he wouldn't draw conclusions based on elf's words. The creature could have been tricked as well. "I don't remember," he said, trying to sound as cold as possible.

"What a tragedy!" Daedalus whimpered, rubbing on his reddened, puffy eyes. "Do you need anything, master? I could come again and bring you new clothes, your favourite food, your silk sheets," he mumbled softly, "You can't walk around in the very same dress, it is inappropriate for a young lord! And these atrocious smells from the kitchen! You must eat healthy food to stay strong, not this garbage," he wrinkled his long, pointed nose in disgust. Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of his funnily grimacing face. "Oh, how old Daedalus misses your laughter, master!" the elf sighed dreamily, watching him with bald adoration. 

Blushing shyly Harry smiled, sincerely and heartedly, for the first time ever since he woke up to the new, foreign life. He wondered if he could really use the elf, it seemed the little creature wanted to serve him, even if he couldn't remember it. "I... I would love to have something good to eat for a change," he admitted. "But... Now that you know where I am, is he going to come for me?" He suddenly realized that he had been actually found by the Dark Lord and felt frightened, but excited nevertheless. 

"I don't know, master, forgive me," Daedalus shook his head. "You would find out soon," he rose up, looking at Harry longingly and bowed lowly, touching the floor with a tip of his nose. "I will always be loyal to you, young master Harry, don't be afraid, old Daedalus would never leave you. I will bring you your favourite the next time I will see you, my little lord." He flickered his tiny fingers and disappeared, as if he had never been there at all.

Staring dumbly at the empty place where the elf had just stood Harry wondered, desperately, if it all was a dream or if he truly had a loving and a caring friend, that was a magical creature? Was he truly missed by someone? 

xxx

"Fuck." Was all he said after he watched Daedalus' memory. 

This was unexpected and complicated everything so much more now. He couldn't simply take Harry back - the boy would never recognize him. He didn't remember their life together, everything they have shared, he didn't remember their passionate, endless nights, filled with moans and promises, fantasies coming to reality. Voldemort covered his eyes with his hand, sighing tiredly. He was exhausted, mentally drained, he wanted to lie down and be embraced by Harry's thin arms, he wanted to be kissed and caressed, to be soothed into a pleasant dream, to finally have rest. But it all was forbidden to him now, even though the boy was practically in his hands. It would have been better if Harry was simply wounded. Anything, but the memory loss. Fourteen years had been erased just like that, in a blink of an eye...

"What are we going to do, master?" Daedalus whispered, tentatively coming closer, uncertain if he should try and calm the man down or run for his life. 

"His memories are not lost forever, they are locked in his mind by his magic and, presumably, my horcrux, as a self-preservation reflex," he drawled hollowly, loathing every word that was coming out of his mouth. "But in order to help him restore the memory I have to perform multiple, intricate Legilimency sessions, and to do that I have to have his complete trust - he is a master of Occlumency, he wouldn't let me in, no matter how hard I try. I taught him that, after all." 

"Can't we just take him back?" the elf asked him sadly.

Looking at the heartbroken creature he simply shook his head. "You know Harry just as well as I do - do you think he would ever trust somebody who forced him to do anything against his own wishes? Would he trust me if I kidnap him, just like those bastards did?" At Daedalus' negative shake of a head he sighed again, "See? I can help him only if he comes willingly. He would be taken to Hogwarts on the 1st of September, I am certain of it. We must proceed with my plan then."

"Wouldn't you visit him?" There was so much hope and pleading in the elf's voice, it made him frown irritably.

"What is the point? It would be like a tug-of-war to him, both me and the Light trying to sway him on our sides. No, this wouldn't do him any good now. Once he is in Hogwarts I will be able to communicate with him freely, constantly. I will have to gain his trust," he growled, displeased and upset. Imagining how much time would it take was devastating to say the least. 

"What would be your orders, master?" the old elf obediently bowed. The Dark Lord knew better when it came to the intricate and dangerous magic of the mind. However he planned to bring Harry back - Daedalus would do anything to help him.

"Find where Gilderoy Lockhart lives and capture him. I will prepare the necessary stock of a polyjuice potion. Pack his clothes, his personal belongings, everything you deem would be necessary for me to keep up with his image," he drawled, resigned and frustrated. "There are no additional wards apart from the basic ones, I gather?" he asked, thinking back on the horrible surroundings his Harry was forced to live in.

"No, you would be able to pass freely, master," Daedalus said and vanished to execute the order. 

That annoying elf with his endless manipulations! Seething Voldemort slumped down in his seat and glared at nothing in particular, too anxious and depressed, angry to stay calm, to stay presentable. He knew, he was absolutely certain it was no good to go to see Harry now, the boy would only close off more, would make the rim between them wider, unfixable. But the desire, that burned in his heart, was stronger than his common sense, he wanted to see his boy, to touch him, to feel his warmth and smell his scent - was it too much to ask? Was it? He was a bloody Dark Lord, since when had he started considering other's feelings and comfort? Since when had he become so soft and understanding, so pathetic, so humane? Since he had brought Harry into his manor and made it their home. How was he supposed to just sit and wait for a better opportunity to come, why couldn't he just take what was rightfully his? 

By nightfall he had run out of patience and didn't even notice how he apparated to the Private Drive of Little Whinging. Yes, the house practically screamed at him of its magical protection, of its uniqueness in a seemingly plainest, most boring neighbourhood that he could ever imagine. Watching out for the Auror, who he saw was sitting by the fence, snoring quietly, Voldemort soundlessly walked towards the front porch, melting into the shadows of the night. He opened the door with just a power of his will, too disgusted to touch anything in such an atrocious household. Quickly surveying his surroundings he went upstairs, following the familiar trace of Harry's magic that was impossible to miss, or to forget. 

The door was magically sealed just like he had taught him. Smiling involuntarily in melancholic nostalgia Voldemort whispered the counter-spell into the keyhole and the door slowly opened, revealing the small, dark space and a thin figure lying in the pool of moonlight, that was falling through the dirty window onto the white mattress. He came closer and kneeled before the sleeping boy, hungrily taking in every tiny detail - they had been apart for only three weeks, but it felt like an eternity to him, so much he missed the raven haired menace. 

Voldemort tentatively reached out and caressed the scar, smiling at the sound of a soft sigh escaping the red lips. Harry's sleep was deep and calm, dreamless, he looked peaceful, if a little sad. Voldemort pulled the plain sheet off of him and transfigured it back into the black coat - the boy obviously forgot the right spell and used the first thing he had at his hand. Shaking his head mirthfully he picked up an old postcard that lay on the desk and transfigured it into a thick, warm, feather cover, very much like the one Harry was used to. He pulled one of his mellow brown hairs and turned it into a comfortable pillow. Holding Harry's head up gently he pushed the pillow underneath it and tucked the boy in with the newly made cover. 

Harry groaned pleasantly and rolled onto his back, stretching in his sleep and shifting to lie more comfortably. Sitting down by his side like he used to do every day for twelve years of their life together Voldemort placed his hand onto Harry's broad, thin chest, that was rising slowly, steadily underneath the green shirt. He missed this so much, this little ritual of theirs. Harry never knew he was watching him sleep until the age of thirteen, when once he managed to pretend to be asleep naturally enough for Voldemort to believe it and to spend his usual hour touching and caressing his boy. Everything had changed once more between them after that, changed so much he could hardly believe it still. And yet it all was real, all the evidence was there in his memory. But not in Harry's anymore. 

"My darling boy," he murmured, caressing the young, beautiful face with the tips of his fingers. Only after being apart from Harry for some time had he noticed how much older he looked, how more mature. Had recently turned sixteen but was already so much more intelligent and serious, than his peers, already so powerful and skillful in all fields of magic... Pride filled his heart at the thought of how wonderfully had his boy grown up. "You will come back to me very soon, I promise," Voldemort whispered against Harry's lips and kissed them gently, barely holding back a moan of desperate longing, that threatened to come out of his constricted chest. 

He forced himself to draw back and squeezed his eyes shut, curling his fingers and piercing the skin of his palms with his long, hard nails. This was a true torture, to be incapable of taking something he desired the most, someone he held dear... No Cruciatus could compare with the pain he felt at the thought that should Harry open his eyes now he wouldn't smile as he always did, but would only get frightened, wouldn't recognize him. He slowly inhaled, calming himself. This was so bloody unfair!

He had to pull himself together. If he wanted to achieve something, if he wanted to have his Harry back he had to stay calm and be rational, and very, very careful. Every action had its consequences - his carelessness had resulted in a horrible tragedy. No, he had to be patient and meticulous, rushing into action and giving in to his emotions was inadmissible. Not now. Not with Harry. 

Voldemort exhaled and opened his eyes, pursing his thin lips into a straight line with determination. He leaned closer and gently checked the boy's right arm - his wand was safely stuck to his skin. Moving his spread palm inches above Harry's body he felt for any signs of injures, both external and internal. Fortunately, there were none. His eyes slowly took in the room, narrowing in disdain at the thought that a great and powerful wizard, a lord, was forced into the stuffy box - that muggles called a bedroom - that looked more like a prison cell. Even Daedalus lived in better conditions! 

"Muggles," he hissed venomously, twisting his lips in a badly suppressed rage. This room reminded him of the orphanage too much, and made his hands tremble, waking the itch underneath his skin that usually led to violence. His gaze fell onto the box of potions and he frowned, alerted. However, the thorough inspection showed that these were simple nutritious potions that were usually given to the students of Hogwarts at the beginning of the new school year, only these smelled awfully. Snape must have brewed them specifically for Harry on Dumbledore's orders. 

Harry sighed again and coiled on his side, pressing his face into the pillow and taking in its scent - the scent of his hair. Of course it wasn't going to help the boy remember, but at least it would be a good start. If Harry got used to his smell it would be a little easier to get close to him in the future. Voldemort sighed too and stroked the long, wavy, raven locks for the last time, tucking them softly behind the boy's ear. He would never get tired of touching him, if it was possible he would have been doing it for the rest of the eternity that was ahead of him and Harry. Eternity together. 

"See you soon, Harry," he smiled and left as silently as he came, repeating his way and cleaning every footprint that he left after himself. It was doubtful that anybody could notice his presence or check for the traces, but he'd rather have such a possibility eliminated completely. With one last glance at the house number 4 of Private Drive Voldemort disappeared. There was a lot of hard work ahead of him before he met Harry again. 

xxx

Harry thought he had the strangest dream. Of somebody touching him with such gentleness and kissing him on his lips so tenderly, so wonderfully, he wanted to cry. These three weeks of his new, weird life were so stressful, he hated how teary and helpless he constantly felt and dearly hoped it would pass soon. Shifting, he noticed that something was different about his bed - he sat up and stared at the soft, puffy pillow and the warm cover, that hadn't been here before. And his coat hang on the back of the chair, carefully folded. Blinking dumbly and pushing his finger into the feather thickness he wondered where could have these thing come from? The door was sealed. It must have been that elf, Daedalus, there was no other explanation to this. 

Smiling gratefully he fell back and relaxed, groaning pleasantly. This was so much more comfortable, just as he liked it, as he was used to it. The pillow smelled oddly, but so familiar, it smelled very much like hair do, but when Harry pressed his own locks against his nose he found his hair's scent was different. This other one felt masculine, astringent, bittersweet, it felt like... home. Tears finally burst out of his eyes as he buried his face into the pillow and cried, hugging it frantically, desperately. He felt so lonely, felt frightened and crushed, for he couldn't remember how to get back, back where the smell came from.

"Don't cry, master Harry." He looked up sharply only to see the elf, Daedalus, beside his bed with a tray in his hands. "You will remember everything eventually." 

"I hope I will," Harry frowned, rubbing the tears off of his face, embarrassed that somebody else had seen them. He wasn't a child, he was already sixteen after all, almost an adult, and a man. He sat up, still holding the damned pillow close to his chest, and ducked his head shyly as his stomach rumbled audibly at the wonderful aroma that filled the room as soon as Daedalus took a lid off of the tray.

"This is your favourite, my lord," the elf smiled broadly, arranging the dishes on the desk. "How good it is to hear your hungry stomach again!" he laughed softly and moved the suddenly repaired chair aside, inviting Harry to sit on it.

Tentatively he complied and sat at the desk, widening his eyes at the bowl of porridge, filled with berries and fruits, at the plate of omelette and green vegetables under a thin, dark sauce and a cup of sweetest, darkest tea, steaming temptingly in the small, glass pot. "Is this all for me?" he asked uncertainly. 

"Of course!" Daedalus smiled, patting him lovingly on the back and placing a napkin into his lap, "You always loved this porridge, master, ever since I first fed it to you when you were but a tiny infant. You always have this kind of tea in the mornings, and this omelette is very rich and nourishing, it will help you gain a little weight - you are a bag of bones!" He threw his short arms in the air in exasperation, shaking his head, which made Harry smile despite himself. The elf seemed genuinely worried for him and seemed to truly know him. Could he really trust the creature? 

The porridge tasted heavenly, he couldn't help but moan at its sweet, light taste, that was so familiar, so right, he couldn't get enough of it. He remembered, he remembered this taste, and he loved it. Everything tasted just like he knew it should, exactly the right way, wonderfully. Sighing contentedly Harry leaned back in his seat, holding a cup of tea between his palms, and closed his eyes, savouring the specter of flavours on his palette, feeling sated and satisfied for the first time. He couldn't believe how much a good meal meant to him, however, he now had the proof that he indeed was used to another kind of cuisine. 

“Did you cook this?" he asked Daedalus, who was making his bed.

"Of course, my little lord, only I cook for you and our master," the elf said cheerfully, clapping his hands in pleasure at the sight of the empty, practically licked cleaned dishes. 

"Does the Dark Lord like this porridge too?" Harry suddenly asked, he had no idea where had this question come from. Though, he had to admit, he was curious to know more about his mysterious tutor, whom everybody feared so much, while the tiny house elf spoke of him with admiration, respect and bald love.

"No," Daedalus shook his small head, slapping himself with his ears, "Our master hates porridges of any kind. He usually has eggs and bacon for breakfast. And something sweet," he added, winking at the boy mischievously. 

Somehow it seemed ridiculous, that a man, a most dangerous warlock and a murderer of his parents, could be so whimsical and so... ordinary. Harry chuckled, trying to imagine what would have all those light wizards said, if they knew of this. He wanted to ask more about his life with Voldemort, but was interrupted by the loud banging on his door.

"You, son of a bitch! Come out this instant! I will kill you with my bare hands!" It seemed that Vernon finally woke up and sobered up a little. Yesterday after the incident Harry heard him get drunk before Petunia convinced her raging husband to go to sleep instead. 

At the elf's inquiring, worried glance he waved his hand, "It is nothing. I simply pranked his son yesterday and now he is mad at me because of that." Daedalus' expression grew skeptical and he gave Harry a knowing, chiding look. "Well, yes, yes, I might have gone too far in that, but I never did anything harmful to him!" he huffed, shrugging his shoulders irritably. 

Daedalus shook his head mirthfully, "You are just like our master, my little lord. You two and your cruel, childish pranks..." he sighed nostalgically and picked up the tray to take it away. "I will be back later with your next meal. It seems like you are not going to leave your room until the 1st of September." He vanished with a soft popping sound before Harry could retort. Scowling he briefly wondered what could that mean, were he and the Dark Lord truly friends that they even shared the pleasure of pranking others? The more he discovered about the man, the more unbelievable, unreal he seemed.

xxx

Harry had indeed stayed locked inside until the first of September, to simply avoid Vernon. Now that Daedalus visited him at least three times a day he could eat plenty of wonderful, tasty meals without any problem. And now that he had magic the matter of washing up and going to a toilet could also be solved very easily. In truth, he didn't even want to go out, waiting impatiently for Sirius to arrive and take him away. Everything about this place, these muggles, these wards irritated him greatly. 

He hadn't managed to leave the property - as soon as he crossed the invisible barrier, that guarded him from the outside world, the Auror on duty caught him and forced him back, threatening to confiscate his wand. Harry wouldn't have let him, of course, but it was obvious that he would have to fight in order to get away. That was why he willingly stayed a prisoner in his stuffy cell, having only Daedalus to communicate with. He found he liked the elf very much and as the time passed he realized that he indeed felt more and more familiar towards him, was gradually recognizing him and his personality. 

"Where had this scar come from?" he asked the elf the night before the day of his planned departure, while they were drinking tea together, sitting on his bed in companionable silence. 

"I am sorry, master, I can't say. It is something only the Dark Lord could tell you, it is something you have to remember for yourself," Daedalus murmured, looking at him apologetically.

"It is not an ordinary scar then?" Harry sighed into his cup. He was growing tired of how abnormal he turned out to be, everything about him was... deviant. 

"No, it is a very important part of you, my little lord, you have to be very careful and never let anybody else touch it except for our master," the elf shook his index finger instructively at him, sounding gravely serious. "You must be very, very careful when you get to Hogwarts, don't let them do anything to you."

"I won't," he promised. As if he would let anybody touch him, really. 

"The Dark Lord will be watching out for you, as would I, master. We would never leave you alone in the hands of the enemies," Daedalus said firmly and poured more tea into their cups. 

Harry raised his eyebrows in wonder. How was the warlock planning to look after him there, where all the light wizards and witches were going to be on his back 24 hours 7 days a week? "How would you do that?" 

"This is a secret," the elf winked at him mischievously, "I don't want to spoil our master's surprise." 

"I could do without any more surprises, thank you very much," Harry sighed again, frowning. He would be torn between two sides, none of which was safe for him, none of which could be trusted until he remembered everything. If only there was a simple spell that could tell him who was a friend and who was a foe... "Could you get me a book about Hogwarts? I would like to read up on it a little bit, to understand where I am going to, what is expected of me there."

"Of course!" Daedalus exclaimed and instantly disappeared, only to return back mere seconds later and push a thick, leather tome into Harry's hands.

"Thanks," he mumbled, slightly startled. He still couldn't get used to the elf's magic, it was so different from his own, and he could sense it more acutely with each new day, as his own magic was gradually becoming stronger again. "I suppose I never attended Hogwarts before? Why?" 

"Because you had to be hidden, master Harry," the elf explained, shrugging his thin shoulders. "Of course, our master could have used special charms on you, disguise you as somebody else, but he thought that the education in that school wasn't enough for you, that it was incomplete and insufficient for such a powerful wizard as you are. Our master educated you personally, from the very beginning," he smiled proudly, patting the boy's hand. At Harry's inquiring glance he chuckled softly, "He taught you to walk, to talk, to read and to write, all by himself, never let me do that."

Harry widened his eyes in shock, "You can't be serious! Why would the Dark Lord do that?"

"He wanted to make you into a worthy warlock, master," Daedalus smiled again, warmly. "He wanted to raise you like you deserved to be raised, he wanted to give you what you were entitled to. He wished to teach you real magic, to help you become just as great as he is. You were so tiny, so helpless, what else could he do? He had to start with the basics, he didn't trust me with it," he huffed good-naturedly, laughing mirthfully all the while. "But he did raise you so well! You are such an intelligent, powerful warlock already! Just wait and see when you recover completely, you have no idea how actually great you are!" 

Blushing at the high praise Harry once again wondered just who was this Voldemort, why was he so different towards him, when everybody else knew him as a psychotic murderer. How could a man, who killed his parents, be so kind and attentive to him, raise him so carefully? Just in what kind of a relationship were they? Had he truly forgiven the wizard for killing his family? Harry didn't remember them of course, and their photograph meant absolutely nothing to him, but the fact remained and disturbed him. Was it possible to forgive such a crime? Or had Voldemort replaced his family so well that he found a way to accept their deaths and move on? His past seemed curiouser and curiouser with every day! 

"Don't worry, master Harry," the elf stroked him on his back, as he stood up to leave, "You will remember and understand eventually."

"Thanks, Daedalus," he offered the creature a small smile and watched him vanish out of sight. In all honesty he was grateful the Dark Lord had found him. If it wasn't for Daedalus' visits he would have surely gone insane, being stuck here all alone, making random guesses.

Harry didn't sleep at night in favour of reading the whole book from cover to cover. It was rather interesting and more than once he wondered where had the Dark Lord learned to wield magic, had he studied at home, just like Harry, apparently, had, or had he attended Hogwarts, or another school? Were there special schools for dark wizards? For dark lords? He chuckled at the idea, turning the pages and watching the wonderful moving pictures. 

Hogwarts seemed magnificent by the description, all the legends and adventurous stories about the Four Founders fascinated him. He had a strong notion he had known of them before, and Salazar Slytherin felt especially familiar to him. Harry caught himself staring at his portrait for about ten minutes before he realized what was so odd about it - the locket around the great warlock's neck was just like the one that Harry wore himself. He pulled it from underneath his shirt and pressed against the page, comparing them. They looked identical. Could it be the original Slytherin's locket that lay so innocently, so nicely on his palm, vibrating in delight and sending pleasant shivers down his skin? There was no information about it in the book and he had no idea what was it made for. Yet another mystery in his life. 

xxx

He woke up with a start, dropping the opened tome onto the floor at the sounds of loud shouting downstairs. He instantly recognized Sirius' voice and groaned in relief - finally, he was leaving this shithole. Having had hastily taken the spell off of the door and shrunk the book to fit his pocket Harry put his shoes on just in time for his godfather to burst inside with a huge grin plastered on his face.

"Harry! How good it is to see you safe and sound, and sane!" He laughed loudly at his own joke and grabbed on his coat, cheerfully transfiguring it back into a robe. "No need for this anymore, you are going to Hogwarts! You can't imagine how I dreamed of the day you would go there! Seeing you off the King's Cross, smuggling illegal stuff into your trunk," he kept blubbering dreamily, as he dragged Harry down the stairs, "Well, technically, you are going rather late for your age and by flooing, not a train, but it is still the very thing I always wanted to do, like a godfather, you know?" 

"Yeah, I guess," Harry mumbled, smiling at the man helplessly. He felt grateful to him for being here, for being so kind and unprejudiced, but he couldn't really find anything else in himself, that could have been developed into warm, family feelings, which Sirius, obviously, wished to receive. 

"I will get to you, freak!" Vernon hissed venomously at him, as they passed by. "I will bloody kill you!"

"Got yourself a fan so soon? Harry, I am proud of you," Sirius chuckled, however, his eyes were cold and hard, when he gave the fat man a warning look. 

"In your dreams, uncle," Harry grinned and waved at Dudley, who was cowardly hiding behind his parent's back, "Do not confine yourself to their petty morals, Dudders! Be free and indulge yourself with Piers as often as you can! You live only once!" he shouted, as he and Sirius hastily ran outside, followed by a scarlet in the face Vernon, who was screeching incomprehensible profanities at their backs.

"You are a natural prankster, do you know that?" His godfather chuckled happily, when they suddenly appeared in the hallway of his house at Grimmauld's. "You are still James Potter's son, no matter who raised you." 

"You know better," Harry shrugged and froze uncertainly, when they reached the tall fireplace in the kitchen. 

"What? Oh, you don't remember how to floo!" Sirius winced apologetically, summoning the big, beautiful red trunk from the other room. "Just take the powder, throw it in and step inside. And say Hogwarts."

Giving him a doubtful look Harry took a handful of reddish ash from a can on the mantelpiece and dutifully threw it into the fire. It roared and turned emerald green in colour. Sirius pushed him slightly forward and he stumbled inside, fearfully squeezing his eyes, afraid to get burnt. "Hogwarts!" he rasped and after a moment of spinning upside down he clumsily fell onto the soft rug. Coughing and sneezing he rose on his fours and shook his head, trying to get rid of the ash, that was everywhere: in his eyes, in his nose, even in his mouth.

"Now, now, my boy," somebody laughed softly over his year and helped him up. "You will have to work on your landing technique." A few more voices joined in to share a few chuckles and Harry looked up, creasing his brow, rubbing the ash off of his face. 

There stood a few wizards and witches in the circular room, that looked like a private office. He instantly recognized Snape - he was the only one who made a show of looking in an opposite direction, keeping the sourest expression on his waxen, unpleasant face. Dumbledore was the one who helped him and was now cheerfully cleaning him up.

"I hope you got here without adventures, Sirius?" the headmaster asked the wizard, who easily skipped out of the hearth and gracefully dropped Harry's trunk onto Snape's foot.

"Oh yes, everything went fine! Harry managed to make great friends with the muggles!" Sirius laughed, winking at the boy conspiratorially. 

"Splendid!" Dumbledore clapped his hands in satisfaction and gently took Harry by the shoulder to lead him closer to the others. "Now, Harry, since your admission into the school is very unusual and, well, to be blunt, necessary and very important, I think you should be introduced to your future teachers beforehand. They are aware of your condition and will do everything to help you."

"Yes, you are right, sir. Thank you," Harry smiled at him, inwardly rolling his eyes at his care. He could have done very well without this. 

"Now, this is Minerva McGonagall, professor of Transfiguration, the Head of the House of Gryffindor," he introduced a thin, sternly looking witch in a tall, pointed hat. However, when she smiled, Harry found her expression very kind and welcoming - she looked at him as if she had already seen him before, very much like Sirius did when they first met. He bowed before her and kissed her hand, acting on his instinct, however, it surprised everybody present. 

"Did I do something wrong, sir? Madame?" Harry looked up uncertainly at the witch, but she only shook her head, blushing slightly.

"It is simply a rarity nowadays, Mr Potter, that a young man acts so respectfully and pleasantly towards a lady. I must admit I am impressed with your manners." 

"I just felt like it was a proper way of greeting you," he offered shyly.

"Very good, my boy," Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder, smiling broadly from behind his thick, white beard. "It means your memory is slowly coming back to you. Very good news indeed!" He led Harry further. "You already know our potions master Severus Snape. He is also the Head of the House of Slytherin."

"I can do without a kiss, Potter," Severus scoffed snidely, and everybody burst into a cheerful laughter.

Harry chuckled mirthfully as well, "What a great loss, sir." He walked away, arching his eyebrow pointedly at the dark man, who sneered at him angrily. Something told Harry they were never going to become friends. 

"This is Pomona Sprout, professor of Herbology and the Head of the House of Hufflepuff," Dumbledore introduced a small, plump woman with a bush of grey hair sticking out from underneath a pointed hat, decorated with real flowers and leaves. She smiled warmly at him, and two pink spots appeared on her round cheeks when Harry bowed before her and kissed her hand as well.

"Filius Flitwick, professor of Charms and the Head of the Ravenclaw House." The small man hastily shook Harry's hand, trying to simultaneously push up his small, round glasses, that kept sliding down his nose and fall on his thick, well groomed moustache. 

"Very nice to meet you, Mr Potter!" Flitwick said in a high, ringing voice, "We all expect great results from you. Your parents were very talented wizards indeed, and excelled at everything, my subject especially!"

"I will do my best, sir," Harry dutifully promised. He was also introduced to several other teachers, a scary looking caretaker and his cat, who both narrowed their eyes at him, daring him to go and break a rule, and finally Dumbledore led him towards a brightly smiling young man, dressed in a blindingly pink robe, with his long, blond curls of hair arranged neatly on his left shoulder.

"Ah, this year we have another newcomer in our midst, who is just as fresh and green as you are, Harry. This is our new professor of Defense Against Dark Arts, Gilderoy Lockhart."

"Oh, what a pleasure, what a pleasure, Mr Potter! Your miraculous comeback had truly shaken me to my very core!" the man exclaimed, grabbing onto Harry's both hands, squeezing them tightly between his manicured ones and shaking so hard, that Harry could barely stand on his feet. "We should definitely team up against the band of oldies here!" he winked with one of his bright blue eyes and wriggled his eyebrows playfully, jerking his head in the direction of the others, who, as Harry noticed, were rolling their eyes and shaking their heads in exasperation. It seemed they didn't appreciate his attitude that much, nor his rotten sense of humour. Lockhart's touch, however, felt very odd, as if... As if Harry had known him before. Had definitely touched him before, this pleasant coolness of his skin was something that caused that strange pang of longing in his heart again.

"Pleasure is all mine, sir," Harry mumbled, pulling his hand away and furrowing his brow, peering at the man carefully. The corners of Lockhart's lips quivered just for a tiny half of a second there, but Harry caught a ghost of a completely different, foreign smile that appeared on his face. A smile that didn't belong to him at all. A smile he thought he knew very well.

"Now that we are all introduced to each other, I think it is time you took a little tour around the castle," Dumbledore cheerfully dragged Harry away and in the direction of the door. "We still have a couple of hours until the Welcoming Feast and your Sorting. Minerva, would you be so kind as to show Harry around?" 

"Yes, of course!" the witch smiled brilliantly at the headmaster and offered Harry her arm to take. "I will show you all the classrooms and quickest passages between them, Mr Potter, so that you didn't feel lost amongst your skillfully navigating peers!"

"Oh, may I join?" Lockhart cried, running after them, "I haven't been to Hogwarts ever since I graduated, I have forgotten it all already!" he waved his arms expressively, spreading sparkling dust around himself, very much like a fairy would, Harry thought. 

"I don't see why not," Dumbledore lifted his shoulders, smiling apologetically at McGonagall, who all but skinned him with her glare. Nodding her head awkwardly in invitation, she strode forward, startling Harry into a fast jog. 

They quickly passed the countless corridors and halls, jumped on the moving stairs, peeked into the Great Hall and the library, which impressed Harry so much, he thought he would faint from the amount of magical books that were kept there; visited the courtyard and even went outside the castle to take a look at the lake. Lockhart followed them, gasping and screeching like a girl, pointing his finger at everything and giving cheerful but stupid commentaries, that were supposed to be funny, and he laughed at them loudly, while Harry simply kept silent and McGonagall swore under her breath, and looked like she was going to throttle the obnoxious blonde the moment they finished their excursion. They also walked in the direction of all four Houses, so that Harry could easily find the one he would be sorted into.

"I do hope you will get into Gryffindor, Mr Potter," the old witch told him, when they came back into the Great Hall, where the elves had already laid out the dishes and last decorations, and the teachers were already gathering at the Head Table. "Your parents both were in my House, it would be an honour and a great pleasure to have you with me as well." 

"Oh, but you never know, Minerva!" Lockhart crooned at her, patting Harry on his shoulder rather harshly. "The Hat decides where would Mr Potter go. I always thought I was born a gryffindor and yet I ended up in Ravenclaw!" he drawled haughtily, puffing his weak chest forward and brushing his long hair back with a practiced, intentionally careless gesture. 

"Right," she pursed her lips and, having had given Harry a pitying look, walked away to meet the first year students.

"So you are supposed to be a very intelligent wizard, hungry for knowledge," Harry looked Lockhart over with bald skepticism. 

But the man simply smiled at him somewhat seductively, Harry thought, and purred softly, leaning closer to his ear, "Oh, but do not judge a book by its cover, Mr Potter. Simply take a look inside," he raised one of his thin, groomed eyebrows pointedly and, having had given Harry a very sly, very dirty look, waltzed towards the Head Table, loudly expressing his delight from the tour he had just finished. 

Harry stared after him, swallowing hard, and felt his face grow hotter and gradually redden in... arousal. Lockhart was, and he hated to admit that to himself, very handsome, but it wasn't his looks that turned Harry on, but his familiarity, his strange, magnetic aura, his knowing, tempting glances and his open advances. Was he also queer? Was it so obvious that Harry was? He suddenly felt very insecure and embarrassed and secretly wished he had Daedalus here with him, to tell him to not to worry about it. 

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore suddenly appeared by his side, "You should change into your school uniform. Let me help you with this one!" He waved his long wand and suddenly Harry's clothes switched to a pair of straight, black trousers, a white shirt, a grey jumper and a plain black tie. "Once you are sorted, the elves would give you a tie and a scarf of your House, and would sew its crest on your robes."

"Thank you, sir. What was that spell?" Harry smiled. The old wizard smiled back and whispered the incantation to him. He found he knew that spell, more so, he knew a much better one - he suddenly remembered. 

"You will have to stand at the end of the line of the first years, you will be sorted the last," the headmaster told him, leading him by the arm to the grand doors, through which a crowd of students suddenly poured in and Harry gasped, staring fearfully at them, overwhelmed with the sheer amount of different auras, magics overlaying each other, mixing together and making his head spin. "Are you alright, Harry?" Dumbledore looked at him worriedly.

"Yes, yes, I am fine, sir. I... It is just... So many wizards and witches, magical children just like me," he finally made up a passable excuse, exhaling heavily, straightening himself.

"Ah, yes, I am sorry for that Harry, if I could keep you in the magical world for this month, I would have surely done so to help you adjust. But alas," the wizard offered him a sympathetic, grandfatherly smile and patted him kindly on the hand. "Go now and join professor McGonagall behind that door. Good luck!" 

Harry tentatively stepped into the small, narrow room that adjoined the Hall and walked to the end of the line at the witch's encouraging nod. Small boys and girls, barely looking their eleven, watched him in astonishment - he wasn't simply much, much taller than them, but also looked very differently. It was all that blasted scar, Harry grumpily thought, scowling at the curious glances thrown his way. He pushed his long, raven hair back, angrily pulling on the unruly locks, that never obeyed him, despite their length and heaviness. What was the point of grooming himself, though? He surrendered and slumped his shoulders exhaustedly - he wished it all ended sooner. The day had been already overly eventful for him, he needed time to digest and analyze, adjust. 

They slowly proceeded forward and into the hall and Harry shuddered under the many stares addressed solely to him. It felt as if he was naked, really. Creasing his brow in annoyance he squared his shoulders and pointedly looked up, pretending to be as fascinated with the ceiling as all the children were. 

"Today is indeed a great day for us all," Dumbledore rose up and deafening silence fell over the student body. It was only then, that Harry noticed that one table on the far left was almost empty - the one that stood under Salazar Slytherin's flags. "Not only do we begin another, as I dearly hope, wonderful and fruitful school year, but we also welcome back the long lost wizard, who was presumed dead for fourteen years, and whom the Fate itself brought back into our arms! Please, welcome Harry James Potter!" 

The hall drowned in an echo of applause and hushed murmurs. Harry heard some of the students whisper 'the Potter' and 'the last one of the bloodline'. The fact that the people, who saw him for the first time in their lives, possessed a greater knowledge of his origins than he did himself angered him and he hung his head down, covering up his mouth, that was twisted in rage. 

"However, it is my grief to also announce, that this year there are only six students of the House of Slytherin in attendance. I hope that today we would find at least a few more," the headmaster smiled encouragingly at the children, who stood clinging close to each other, throwing wary glances at the empty table.

"I hope I won't go to Slytherin!" one of the girls whispered desperately, and others around her nodded vehemently in agreement. Perplexed Harry looked up at the table once again. There sat six students, who looked like a second or third year, all very young and very upset, shamefully keeping their eyes trained on their knees. What had happened? What important piece of a puzzle had he forgotten?

McGonagall began calling out the names and all the children, one by one, were sorted into the Houses rather quickly, however, none of them got into Slytherin. "Potter, Harry!" the witch called, banishing the scroll out of her hands and raising the corners of her mouth in an attempt to encourage him to come closer. 

Taking a deep breath Harry confidently walked forward, sat on the stool and closed his eyes, prepared to drown in the huge Hat just like all the children had done just before him, however, it barely touched his forehead when a deafening exclamation shook the glass in the windows of the hall, "FINALLY, A SLYTHERIN!" Harry flattered his eyes wide open only to see everybody stare at him with their jaws dropped down, even the ever disciplined and sparing in emotions McGonagall. He slowly rose up and strode towards the abandoned table, intentionally ignoring the teachers. He knew very well what kind of looks he was going to receive from there. 

"Well," Dumbledore rose once again, clearing his throat, "At least we have one more student in the House of Slytherin now. Let's eat!" he hurried to finish and sat down, only to start a heated, hushed discussion with other professors. 

"Well, that was unexpected," Sirius sat down beside Harry, with a crushed expression marring his features. "However... Well, to be honest we all were lying to ourselves, when we hoped that you would get into Gryffindor. I come from a slytherin family and I ended up in Gryffindor because of my personality, not my blood... Looks like you haven't really taken after your parents after all." 

Harry couldn't offer the man any kind of condolences, to him there was no difference which House to go to. "Why aren't there any students from Slytherin? What happened?" he asked instead.

"I keep forgetting that you don't remember," Sirius shook his head apologetically. "The Dark Lord's followers, they all come from Slytherin, most of them were identified during the recent battle and are now either captured or are being hunted down. Their families hid as well, afraid of the retribution or unfair treatment of their children here, now that we know that their parents are criminals. Most dark wizards end up in Slytherin, because of their... Deceitful and cruel nature." 

"So now this House is feared and despised," Harry mused aloud, gazing at the six children, who were talking quietly between themselves, stealing hesitant glances in his direction. 

"Always was, but discreetly, since there never was any evidence," Sirius nodded sadly. 

"I don't care," Harry sighed, shrugging his shoulders, "All Houses are equally good, judging by how they are described in the book, how they were designed by the Founders. Prejudice is purely your own doing. You are dark, and yet you ended up with the Light side. What does it make you? A hypocrite?" He smiled ruefully. "Doesn't matter now. My mind is as blank as a piece of paper, I am not burdened with the lies and misconceptions that had been cultivated for years and eventually resulted in this. Do not expect me to ask for forgiveness - there is nothing to forgive me for. I don't remember the man that raised me, I don't remember the spells and dark curses he taught me, I don't even remember if I was a good or a bad person... And yet the Hat thinks I belong here. Perhaps, I was never supposed to take after my parents, but was going to, probably, be thrusted on with a completely different, gryffindorish type of personality to make me take after them, simply because it is inappropriate for a Potter to be born a slytherin." 

He stood up and walked over to the children, who instantly went into silence and stared at him fearfully, expecting the worse, as did the whole student body - Harry could practically hear how they all had suddenly held their breaths along with the Head Table. 

"Hello, I am Harry. I am honoured to be in your House. Could you tell me about it? I am completely ignorant of its history," he said and sat down next to them, smiling kindly. Relief and gratefulness were evident in their shining eyes and they tentatively spoke, one by one, telling him what he had already known from the book but pretended that he didn't. When a quiet chatter filled the hall again Harry carefully glanced at the teachers - they were whispering between each other, ignoring him, except for the two men, who sat at the end of the table, closest to him. 

Snape was watching him through the narrowed eyes, all but burning a hole in him, while Lockhart... And this was what befuddled Harry. Lockhart was watching him with bald, uncovered pride in his brightly gleaming eyes, and the smile, that played on his lips, was of a very pleased, warm, affectionate kind. What in the Hell did it mean?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V. Enchanted.

"Remember what I taught you," Tom hissed in parseltongue, moving his pale, veined hands over his face, that suddenly transformed into a completely different one, "Whatever happens - stay close to me. Do not say too much, less words lead to less trouble. I will do the speaking, you listen and do what is asked of you."

"How is this buying me a birthday present? It looks like we are going into a battle," Harry looked up at his friend, smiling despite his grumpy tone. He felt so excited he could barely keep still. 

Today was the 31st of July, it was his birthday, and they were going to the Diagon Alley to buy him a present! His first real present! But what exactly would it be Tom never told him. Harry never knew when was his birthday until he asked Daedalus, after having had read about this type of celebration in a book. The elf asked their master, however, Tom had no idea when was he born exactly, he knew only that it was the end of the seventh month. After searching at the Ministry archives Daedalus had finally found the date and promised Harry he would throw him a small party. It took the poor creature almost a whole month to convince Tom that the boy actually needed to have birthdays in his life, needed to receive presents, to have this special magical day reserved only for him.

"As if blasted Christmas is not enough for you," Voldemort muttered, irritated by the nonsense he was once again dragged into against his own will. To think that the Dark Lord was so easily manipulated by a seven... No, already an eight year old child! "Do you want the present or not?" he snapped, but the boy only grinned at him, agitated, and nodded his head vehemently, with such strength, he was afraid it would fall off. "Fine, come here." He took out his white, yew wand and pressed it against Harry's forehead, chanting a very long incantation of many different spells combined. 

Shivering under the cool wave of magic washing over him Harry squeaked when Tom hit him on his nose lightly as a finishing gesture. He turned around to stare at his reflection in the dusty window in the back of Borgin and Burke shop. He looked absolutely unrecognizable. Both Tom and he wore their fair hair short and their eyes were dull grey in colour. They shared similar features, looking like a father and a son, and even their dresses looked different - they were of a bright blue, cheap material. 

"Woah," he breathed out. And got a light hit on the back of his head.

"What have I told you about these imbecilic muggle words?" 

"Yes, yes, sorry," Harry rubbed on the sore spot, making a show of being hurt, but the mischievous gleam in his eyes told Voldemort that the boy was simply playing him. As always. 

Despite the stern discipline and despite the fact that the boy was, actually, very intelligent and obedient, and studied very hard and very well, he was a natural prankster. Harry couldn't survive a day without causing at least a little chaos. And, although he kept punishing him for his naughtiness, Voldemort couldn't find anything wrong about it - he was pleased to see that Harry grew free and uncorrupted, that he knew the difference between right and wrong and knew when it was time to work and when to have fun. 

"Where are we going? Will you tell me?" Harry whined, taking him by the hand and squeezing it lovingly in his own. 

"You will see," he sighed wearily. 

On one hand he hated going out, loathed being amongst other people, whoever they were, muggles or wizards, they all disgusted him and were not worthy even of his glance. However, on the other hand, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, he enjoyed taking Harry out. The boy was unprejudiced, attentive and perceptive, he mostly saw the world for what it was and needed little help in distinguishing who could be of use to him and who was an enemy. By his eighth year Harry was absolutely certain that he had only two friends in his life: his master and Daedalus - Voldemort had done a lot to make this notion real and sink in thoroughly. The boy couldn't trust anybody else - that he had also taught him the hard way. Tears were just a byproduct of the studying process, Harry was adjusting fast, well. 

They walked out into the Diagon Alley and joined the stream of happily chatting wizards and witches, parents with their children, who all were carrying cauldrons in their hands, filled with books, quills, potion ingredients and parchments. Although Tom had often taken him out into the magical world Harry could never get used to the brightness of others' clothes and to the endless noise that filled the air of the place and made the glass in the shops' windows vibrate quietly. 

"Why are they carrying their cauldrons like bags?" he wondered aloud, hastily jogging by Tom's side, for the man was walking very fast, as always.

"They are preparing to go to the magical boarding school, Hogwarts," Voldemort drawled, furrowing his brow in annoyance. Nothing had really changed since he came here as a student himself, it had only gotten louder and more expensive, but everything else had stayed just the same. Stalled. 

"Will I have to go to that school too?" Harry asked warily. He didn't want anybody else to teach him, for Tom was the best teacher in the world... And how could he really go away? And leave his friend all alone? 

"No, it is pointless and dangerous for you to go there, they would never teach you what you really need to know, would only stuff your empty head with some Light rubbish." They had already begun Occlumency lessons and, in all honesty, if he wished to, he could have easily made Harry's mind impenetrable by the age of eleven and send him to Hogwarts, but... 

And it wasn't his confidence that he could offer the boy a better education, which he could of course, and it wasn't the precaution in guarding his horcrux. No, not really. He simply didn't want to let Harry go. The child wasn't just suppressing his insanity and incontrollable rage, he simply made his life... a life. Voldemort, having had reached the age of sixty, now could look back and sincerely admit that all that he had been doing all those years was surviving. Permanently struggling with the injustice and his own solitude. He was different, he was deviant, even amongst dark wizards he couldn't find himself his rightful spot - that was one of the many reasons why had he become their leader. He was always alone, surrounded by the adoring, seemingly faithful, sycophantic followers he felt even lonelier than he used to while living at the orphanage amongst muggles. There, at least, there was a reason for that. Here, however... 

But Harry changed his morbid existence, made it into a proper living. He finally felt alive and excited to see the future. Having Harry by his side was pleasant, rewarding, no matter how much the boy annoyed him he liked him more and more with every day. He saw the results of his own work, reaped the fruits of his own labour, he saw the child grow and improve under his care, with his help, and it made him proud, brought him satisfaction, which none of his invented spells and curses and perfectly executed duels could bring. 

"Good," Harry nodded, relieved. They didn't have to walk for long. Tom stopped by the window, in which a lonely, ancient wand lay on a dusty pillow. "Ollivander's?" Harry read the sign and looked up at his friend inquiringly.

"Yes, we will buy your present here," Voldemort muttered and pushed the door open. Fortunately there were no customers, it seemed that all the first years had already bought their wands, if the small mountain of empty boxes at the counter was anything to judge by.

"Hello, how may I help you? Oh..." a white haired man with big, blue eyes withered in colour came from behind the curtain of his back-room only to stop sharply and stare at his guests curiously.

"I would like to purchase a wand for my son," Voldemort said nonchalantly, stretching his lips in an indulgent smile, however, he was watching Ollivander very carefully. He remembered their first encounter, when he came here for his own yew wand. He never paid any heed to that then, but now he realized that the old wizard was very dangerous and, most probably, was able to sense their glamours. Was definitely not an ordinary salesman. 

"But your son looks too young to be a first year student, sir," Ollivander said, looking the boy over. He was so ordinary, so plain it didn't feel quite right. Something was wrong about him. 

"He is home schooled, he is not going to attend Hogwarts," he explained, pushing Harry slightly forward. 

"I see. Well, you know that by the Ministry's rules..."

"Yes, yes, I have that covered, do not worry," Voldemort smiled even brighter, inwardly cursing the old man. 

"Oh. Well, in that case..." Ollivander nodded submissively and held out his hand, "What is your name, young man?"

"Oliver Twist," Harry blurted out. Tom never told him what name to use, but he thought that saying Harry Potter would not be right, since they were hiding their faces. 

The old wizard raised his eyebrows in surprise, for the name was completely unknown to him. "Doesn't sound familiar. You must be a half-blood, half-muggle, eh?" At the boy's affirmative nod he shook his head sympathetically, "Yes, they rarely get to go to Hogwarts these days. Alright, stretch your arm so that I could take measurements. It would be difficult to find a wand for him, sir, for he is still growing very fast and changing..." he told the tall, fair haired father, who stood by the window, watching them impassively. 

"I think you would find that most wands don't suit him."

Intrigued Ollivander banished the tape and looked the boy in the grey eyes, that were watching him guardedly, carefully, as if the child expected him to attack any second. "May I examine your wand, sir? As close relatives you might share some significant similarities in your magical cores, which call for specific contents."

Voldemort arched an eyebrow at the request. Ollivander would of course recognize his yew wand, but there was no choosing between self-protection and Harry's future. The boy had to find the right wand now, for it was going to accompany him through his whole life. Such powerful wizards as he and Harry never really changed their wands, for it was impossible to find another one, that could suit just the right way, better way. Well, except for the Master Wand that Dumbledore took from Grindelwald. 

"Looking at it would be quite enough for you," he purred and pulled it out of his sleeve, simultaneously sealing the shop's door and placing a repellent charm on it. 

Ollivander instantly knew who was standing in front of him, even without touching the wood. This wand was impossible to forget. The almost imperceptible vibration in the air of a wandless and wordless spell being cast was impossible to miss. It was the Dark Lord himself, one of the few wizards who didn't need any wands anymore, for they wielded magic like they breathed. 

"Lord Voldemort," he murmured, looking up and meeting a pair of blood red eyes, so foreign on the plain, kind face, that was of course a glamour. Now he knew what was wrong about his customers, about the child. 

"I believe now you know what should you be looking for? I would love to spare my son of your usual show of trying every bloody stick in here, before you give him the one you have already chosen right from the start," he drawled tiredly and put his wand back. 

"Of course, sir," Ollivander bowed his head, rubbing his suddenly sweated palms against his vest. The Dark Lord had a son, an heir, and all he could think of was if he would see another day. Such knowledge could hardly be valued in any currency but in life and death. "Now, young man, tell me, have you ever performed magic before?" he addressed the boy warily, peering into his eyes. 

"Of course! Plenty!" Harry stood on his toes excitedly, but glanced at Tom uncertainly, suddenly frightened he had said something wrong. But his master simply watched him, giving no signs whatsoever. 

"Oh," Ollivander nodded in understanding. "Then there are three wands that I think could fit you." He solemnly pulled out three black boxes from the bottom row, where the layer of dust was as sick as a finger, where there was a lonely free spot from the box in which the Dark Lord's wand used to be kept. How many years had passed... "Try each one of them," he laid out the three completely different types before the child, but knew it was fruitless. Of course, of course the boy reached out for the brother wand of the white yew one. 

"This one!" Harry confidently announced, taking the reddish, straight wand with a delicate handle on its end. "I can feel it's calling me!" 

Voldemort came closer to take a better look. It called for him as well, just like his own did. He gave the old man a questioning look. "Well?"

"This one is of holly wood, sir, however, and it is the rarest magical coincidence in our world, the cores of your wands are identical, provided by the very same Phoenix. They are brothers, if one could put it that way," Ollivander elaborated. 

The bright, excited gleam of the ruby eyes disturbed him. Though the wood wasn't typical for the dark wizards, the feather core wasn't either, however, Voldemort had managed to turn his into an indestructible, unbeatable weapon, that brought only death and misery. And his evident joy meant that the holly wand was going to meet the very same destiny. The boy looked up at his father with bald adoration, pressing his newly acquired treasure close to his heart. 

"Splendid," Voldemort hissed lowly, hitting the wizard with a petrifying spell. He put back the boxes and created a layer of dust, restoring everything to look like the bottom row had never been touched ever since his first visit to the shop. He then pointed his wand at the man's forehead and whispered, "Obliviate." 

They walked back in the direction of the Knockturn Alley, as Harry happily held his hand above his inner pocket, where his wand was hidden. "Thank you, Tom," he pressed himself against the man's side, when they stopped to let a group of wizards pass, "This is the best present in the world!" 

Voldemort looked down at him and smirked, very pleased with the outcome. His horcrux had indeed turned Harry into him, made their cores identical - it meant that his boy was going to become just as magnificent as he wished him to be. "You are welcome." The child smiled brilliantly at him, pressing even closer and he allowed himself to gently pat him on the shoulder. He wasn't an affectionate man, especially not in public. "You will have to work much harder from now on, Harry," he said quietly, when they continued their walk. "Now you will have to study more, there would be no time for procrastinating and games." 

"Alright!" Harry nodded his head happily, skipping by his side, with that blinding grin plastered on his face. Although he was glamoured to look differently Voldemort knew exactly how he really looked like now, he knew every tiniest detail of his face and nothing could have fooled him. The boy was ecstatic. He felt it through their link as well. "I am ready to study all day, every day, as long as it is magic and as long as you teach me!" The words sent a particularly pleasant pang into his heart and he scowled, befuddled by the strong emotion, that he was so unused to. Harry made him feel so much, so differently, so real.

The first thing Harry did after they came home and Voldemort broke the Ministry's tracing spells that had been placed on the wand - showed his present off to Daedalus and levitated the elf right onto the dining table. 

"Master! This is incredible, you are such a talented little warlock!" the creature crooned at him, while Voldemort simply hummed from behind his newspaper, feigning disinterest. However, he was just as excited and proud. Harry was developing very fast, he, unlike Voldemort himself, had the luxury of being surrounded by everything magical right from the very birth, wasn't confined to not understanding what he was and what was happening to him, but was encouraged to know more, to crave for more. The boy was already very sensitive towards others' auras and his master's magic in particular, could tell wizards and muggles apart, could even tell one wizard from another without looking at them. This was an outstanding progress for an eight year old. Voldemort concluded that Harry would become his equal already by the age of twenty-twenty five. But the time flew so fast for him, now that his days were occupied with the boy almost completely... He wouldn't have to wait for long for that day to come.

"Harry, put the bloody wand down and eat already," he growled lowly, turning the page. The boy, of course, instantly complied. 

Voldemort watched Harry discreetly, marveling how easily the child learned from him. He copied after his master in his table manners, read just as much and just as fast, was just as stubborn and never gave up if he failed at the first try. Pride, pride and the overwhelming possessiveness were melting his heart now. He was the greatest warlock, there was nothing impossible for him, nothing he couldn't achieve, he even managed to raise a child all on his own, and what a child it was! Nobody would have ever done the same.

Daedalus took their empty plates away and dimmed the lights. Before Voldemort could inquire what was that about, the elf disappeared and a second later returned with a huge cake. Eight tall, colourful candles burned brightly on it's top, spreading magical glow and sparkles around themselves. Harry jumped in his seat, clapping his hands in excitement, his face looked alight, so happy, and his eyes shone so impossibly bright, that Voldemort had to hold back his scathing comment and watched, slightly jealous, how the boy blew the fire out and screamed in amusement and delight, when the candles burst into tiny fireworks. 

"Happy birthday, master Harry!" the elf cried, hugging the child tightly, "Didn't you forget to make a wish?" Harry shook his head, smiling and blushing in pleasure. 

Why couldn't he embrace him, Voldemort mused angrily, why couldn't he hold Harry just as closely and just as intimately? Why were they capable of enjoying the physical contact and he was not? Why were they so free in expressing their feelings, and he was not? Whatever he felt because of Harry confused him, even frightened. He was afraid he was growing soft and weak. 

"Whatever have you wished for?" he scoffed acidly.

"This is supposed to be a secret, Tom!" Harry laughed, hardly believing his eyes. It was a real birthday, just like the books described it. He had a birthday present, he had a birthday cake, he had his friends with him to celebrate... And he made a wish, a magical wish that was bound to come true. "You can't tell your wish to anybody else or it would never happen!" 

"Oh, I see," he raised his eyebrows sarcastically and waved his hand to light up the chandelier, and hid behind the newspaper again. He had never had a proper birthday in his life and was unaware of the traditions of the celebration. He had read about them, certainly, but had forgotten since they were of no use to him. 

"Tom." Harry suddenly appeared by his side and Voldemort heaved a long, exasperated sigh.

"What is it, Harry?" he glanced at the boy skeptically. 

"Thank you. This is the best day in my life!" Harry exclaimed and threw himself on Tom's neck and kissed him on the cheek.

Frozen, still as a rock, Voldemort widened his eyes at the unexpected expression of a gratitude. Harry didn't usually kiss him, rarely touched him at all, but whenever he did, he did it very gently, nicely. This kiss was the concentrated essence of all the tenderness and kindness, that Harry possessed in abundance. It was warm and soft, so pleasant. The small lips pulled away and the boy giggled into his ear, "Thank you!" and ran away, waving his wand above his head, no doubt planning to blow something up. 

He didn't know what to do, where to put himself, he felt so out of place. Daedalus quickly left, barely hiding his atrociously satisfied, knowing smile, and Voldemort was left alone in the dinning room, sitting at the table in an awkward, rigid position. Harry wasn't supposed to kiss him, to like him, to love him, Salazar, none of that. But the mere idea of punishing the boy for being... sincere in his affections seemed irrational to him, wrong. He snorted indignantly, when his own voice in his head assumed that he must have enjoyed it - no, of course he didn't, why would he? But he did enjoy his followers obsequiousness, didn't he? It was a great humiliation to bring upon them, great fun to watch them cringe and suffer... Yet Harry wasn't gaining anything from liking him, wasn't humiliating himself but basked in his own affection and genuinely kind, generous nature... He wasn't supposed to encourage that in the child, wasn't supposed to find it pleasant. 

However, when the night fell and he habitually came into Harry's bedroom to watch the boy sleep, he couldn't help but sigh contentedly at the memory of the kiss. Harry lay, coiled on his side, with a lovely smile playing on his lips, pressing the wand against his chest as his most precious treasure. The child was genuinely grateful, truly happy - and it was all because of him. Had he ever made anybody happy before in his life? He most certainly had not. Voldemort gently pulled the wand out of the small hands and placed it under the pillow, just as he always did with his own, and smoothed the cover over the boy, slowly stroking his form. Whatever it was that Harry had been gradually stirring inside of him as the years went by - it felt unbelievably good. 

xxx

The morning of the 31st of December went just as usual. Since Harry's sixth year he let the boy have it his way on Christmas holidays: Harry arranged the tree and celebrated Christmas on the 25th all by himself and received books and sweets, that were helpfully provided by Daedalus, since Voldemort never deemed it necessary to give any kind of presents. He had never done so previously, why would he suddenly start now? And so he could work in a pleasant silence and immerse himself into the intricate formulas, without being disturbed. 

Only his groaning, suddenly empty stomach reminded him that it was indeed time to have dinner, however, the elf, who usually invited him to the dining room, was nowhere to be seen. He stood up and walked over to the window, for there could be only one explanation to his servant's tardiness... Harry had made Daedalus into a snowman and was laughing like mad at the sight of his work. Voldemort pursed his thin lips to suppress the smile that was tugging on the the corners of his mouth, for there was certainly nothing funny in that, certainly not. The boy fell back on the snow, wailing in a bout of laughter. His reddened cheeks and nose and brightly shining green eyes stood out starkly against his mop of unruly raven locks, that stuck out from underneath his warm hat and were now sticking to his wet face - what a sight it was. He hated to admit even to himself how much he loved to watch Harry, who was becoming more and more beautiful with every year.

He opened the window, flickered his fingers to set the poor old elf free and sent a stinging hex at the boy's side, like he had recently started doing to teach him obedience and develop his reflexes. "Go back inside this instant!" Both Daedalus and Harry hurriedly ran to the doors, and he evilly smiled to himself.

"You really didn't have to do that," Harry mumbled whimsically, rubbing on his side, as he entered the dining room in a whirl of snowflakes, that fell off of his hair and scarf. 

"Daedalus is not a toy, Harry, he is a house elf and has his duties, which you so carelessly overlook all the time," Voldemort told him, crossing his legs in his seat and arching his eyebrows imperiously. "And do speak properly, I find it hard to believe, that you are the smart and talented boy that I am raising, when you mumble like a defected imbecile." 

"I am not!" Harry stubbornly pronounced every word very clearly, stomping his foot on the floor. "Why are you so bloody mean all of a sudden?" 

"Sit down and eat, or I would hex you again, on your long, dirty tongue," he warned coldly, however, he felt rather mirthful and pleased. Now that Harry had a wand and was steadily developing his magical core it was time to teach the boy to derive his power from his emotions. And the strongest were of a negative kind, he knew that better than anybody else. 

Harry muttered something under his breath, grudgingly sitting down and taking off his wet scarf. 

"What was that?"

"Nothing," the boy sighed. When Daedalus brought in the dinner Harry whispered something into one of his big ears and shook his head conspiratorially. 

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the two, who were obviously plotting something, but said nothing. He didn't care what was there on the boy's mind, as long as it wasn't going to distract them from their work. "I hope you didn't forget about our lesson today, Harry? Have you done your usual exercises?"

"Oh, Tom, please, not today!" Harry whined, knitting his eyebrows pleadingly. 

Three times a week they had an Occlumency and Legilimency lesson after dinner. It was always very painful and very unpleasant, hard and exhausting. In all honesty, Harry hated these lessons, but never complained, because he knew how much it meant to his friend. Tom had explained to him that this was the only way he could protect himself from their enemies and had promised to tell Harry all of the secrets that he had, as soon as he mastered the art on an adequate level. And Harry wanted to know everything about his master, it took him so long and so many tears to find out the date of the man's birthday... Which was today. 

"Why? The holidays are over, you have already celebrated that Christmas nonsense of yours, there is no valid reason to evade your studies," Voldemort tilted his head to the side, sipping on his wine. 

"I have a very important business to attend to," Harry squared his shoulders, imitating Tom's serious tone. 

"Oh, what a busy little lord you are!" he chuckled, but no smile appeared on his pale, stone hard face. "And what, pray tell me, is so important, that you have to attend to so urgently?" What could be more important than their lessons together? How dared he to put something, no doubt, mundane and useless over the hard work and precious time he was wasting on the boy's education? Voldemort scowled, suddenly jealous: had Harry found something or somebody more interesting than his master? 

"It is a secret," he murmured, lowering his eyes and hastily finishing his soup.

"You do know that there are no secrets being kept in this house from me," Voldemort hissed lowly, venomously. "I could find out by simply invading that idiotic mind of yours!" 

"No, you won't!" Harry cried and suddenly took off. 

He heard a fork clatter against a plate in the distance, as he ran towards his room. Tom was livid, there was no doubt about that. He only prayed the man would brood for a little longer before following him to punish for disobedience. Harry grabbed the wrapped box, that he had prepared in advance, and darted into the study, sensing that Tom was already close.

Fuming he stormed into the boy's room, but there was no sign of the little bastard. Once again he contemplated the idea of using a Cruciatus on him, to teach him respect and discipline, for Harry had certainly gotten out of hand. He saw the door into his study was opened and stepped inside, growling lowly, menacingly, "If you think you can hide here, of all places, you are greatly mis-" he turned his head and stared at the cake on his desk, covered in countless little candles, that burned brightly with the reddish flame. There was a small box wrapped in red paper beside it. And there was Harry, peeking from behind the desk and smiling smugly at his obvious bewilderment. 

"Happy birthday, Tom!" he exclaimed happily, but hesitated to move out of his shelter. 

To say that he was shocked would have been an understatement. He now briefly remembered that Harry had indeed managed to find this tiny bit of information during one of their Legilimency lessons. But he never paid it any heed, he never thought it meant something to the boy - it was indeed the easiest question to ask and to look for when learning to read others minds... 

"What?" he asked dumbly, standing there like a statue, unable to move, lost for words and suddenly void of any anger and any comprehending of the situation. 

"Happy birthday!" Harry repeated, slowly coming closer and looking at him worriedly. "Have you never had a birthday before?" Tom didn't answer, he just kept staring at the cake and the present, as if they were some kind of exotic creatures, that he had never encountered in his life. The realization that his friend was so lonely that nobody had ever thrown him a party saddened Harry so much, that he fearlessly circled his arms around the man's waist and pressed his head against his stomach, embracing him as tightly as he could. "Oh, Tom, I'm so sorry! Please, please be happy today!"

He inhaled sharply and held his breath. Be happy. Be happy on the day you were born, left by everybody, unwanted, despised and neglected. Be happy to mark another year of suffering and surviving. Be happy. He wanted to pour poison out of his mouth, wanted to acidly tell the boy off, to mock him and his petty, pathetic attempts to... Harry's sincere emerald eyes, full of tears, startled him into yet another breathless astonishment. He could sense how truly sorry the boy felt, how sorry he felt for him, how much he wished him to smile. Harry's thoughts and prayers were almost audible so strong they were, so heartfelt. Voldemort helplessly pressed his thumb against the small, round cheek and brushed a tear off. 

"I... Thank you, Harry," he whispered very quietly and bit on the inside of his cheek at the sight of the most wonderful, happiest smile he had ever seen - and it was addressed to him only, it appeared because of him and nothing else. 

"You are my friend, Tom," Harry pressed tighter against the man's tall, thin frame, "It is my duty to make you happy! Friends help each other and care for each other, don't they? I care for you." He laughed softly and buried his face in the layers of Tom's warm robes, enjoying their smell, enjoying his master's and friend's warmth. 

In all his life there had never been a person who had ever told him anything just as kind. Harry was the first and the only one who cared for him at all. He could feel the boy breathing against his stomach, could feel the small hands holding him tightly, as if out of fear that he would vanish, could hear the small heart beat in one rhythm with his own. "I appreciate that, Harry," Voldemort finally rasped, clearing his throat, and gently pulled away. "You will... Not be punished. However, since we are not going to have our lesson after all, you will have to read three chapters from the World's History textbook and recite it to me after supper." 

"Alright," Harry mumbled, smiling and after, as it seemed, having had contemplated if he could try his luck again and hug him one more time, simply left. Voldemort stood there for a long time, staring after the boy. 

He sat down at the desk and watched the candles burn for a while. Harry never found out the year of his birth, so he had put a hundred candles up instead - Voldemort counted them. Remembering what Harry had done on his birthday he sarcastically wondered if he should too behave like an idiot and make a wish. Where was the proof it would come true? Magical wishes didn't exist - it all was just a fantasy rubbish for children to play with. Scowling he angrily blew the fire out, rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation he found himself in. If he told somebody - they wouldn't believe the notion that he, the Dark Lord, had a birthday cake and was considering to wish for something! To think! 

"This is so embarrassing," he muttered, picking the small, red package up and tearing the paper off. No wonder he had never needed this in his life and had survived perfectly well without this humiliating idiocy until now. What imbecile had invented this? 

A plain white box lay in his hands. What could have Harry really given him? Voldemort suddenly realized he had no idea. Honestly, he didn't know what would he have preferred to receive as a present - this was a new, completely foreign experience to him. Truffles. His favourite chocolate truffles were inside it. Freshly made they smelled heavenly and teased his sensitive nose. He put one of the sweets into his mouth and rested his chin on his loosely folded hands, savouring the taste, as he absentmindedly watched the cake. Of course it was the one he liked the most, made by Daedalus...Yes, he sighed to himself in a reluctantly admitted defeat, living with Harry was indeed very pleasant. Crazy, but pleasant.

xxx 

Spring came late this year and brought long, cold rains, depriving Harry of the delight of flying. He threw another pitiful, regretful look at his wonderful broom, that stood in the corner of his room, tempting him horribly, and grudgingly turned back to his studies. Writing essays was so atrociously boring, and the older he got, the more boring and unbearable this job seemed to him. How were adults capable of doing this for a living? Perhaps, Tom could let him fly in the rain just for a little bit? He knew the water repellent charm well and he was making such a great progress in Occlumency - was it too much to ask in return? Encouraged Harry hastily finished his paper, living an ugly ink smudge at the bottom of it, and hurried to report to his mentor, who was working in the laboratory.

Slowly stirring the potion in the cauldron Voldemort raised his eyebrows inquiringly at the sight of a lovely flushed Harry, obviously out of breath. "What is the cause of such a rush?" 

"I wanted to show you that I have finished my task," Harry panted, "Wanted to ask if you could let me fly today? I know it's raining, but I will be very, very careful!" 

Shaking his head in exasperation he took the paper and scanned it quickly, twisting his lips sourly at the sight of the dirty mark. "Harry, it is physically hard to fly in such a weather, besides, I can sense the storm coming soon. You wouldn't want to break your beloved stick, would you?" he asked snidely. 

Ever since he gave the boy his broom for his ninth birthday Harry had hardly spent another minute inside the house or on the ground. Voldemort had to admit that the child was airborn, like a bird he felt comfortable up there, free and careless, and was so graceful in his feints and spins, but he was simply too young yet, too inexperienced.

"But I am already ten!" Harry objected stubbornly. "I have been flying for more than a year!"

"And although you are ten, you are still the dirty, sloppy swine you always were," Voldemort sighed, throwing the parchment onto the desk. "Your text is good, however, I can clearly see how you have lost your focus and interest by the end of it. You are free from your studies for today, but you are not flying." 

There was the famous pout of the red lips again, but he simply ignored Harry and concentrated on his potion again. 

Harry clicked his tongue and leaned against the table, sulking. "I haven't been flying for days, I am dying of boredom," he scowled at his feet, ruffling his long, thick raven locks in irritation. 

"Reading, perhaps? Brewing? Spell practicing?" he offered lazily. "There is plenty for you to do, Harry, you are just procrastinating and throwing tantrums." 

"Fine, what are you brewing?" Harry surrendered, and stepped closer to look at the dark green concoction. 

"A poison. I thought of testing it on you," Voldemort said simply and threw a handful of fairy dust inside the cauldron.

"What?" Harry sputtered, "Tom, you are playing me again, aren't you?" he laughed nervously. 

"No," he offered the boy a feral smile.

Harry stared at him, befuddled. Of course Tom wasn't going to kill him, this was a ridiculous notion, however, the man had always had his reasons for everything he did or said. "Well, what is it for, really?"

Voldemort smirked and put the fire out with a light swish of his hand. "I came to a conclusion that you have reached an admissible, passable level of Occlumency, and considered to tell you a great secret of mine... and yours, as it happens. However, I do not know how will you take it, therefore, in case you would suddenly want to kill me, I have a plan B," he shrugged, covering the potion with a heavy wooden lid.

"A secret?!" Harry perked up and anxiously followed his friend out and into the study. "Is it really that frightening? Does it have to do something with dragons? Oh please, please, tell me aliens exist and you actually brought me here from the moon!" he cried dreamily, dropping himself onto the sofa and watching Tom add a few logs into the hearth.

"You should read less of that muggle fiction, Harry, your head is like a litter bin," he growled and sat down as well, pushing the boy's legs off of the sofa uncaringly. "Now, do listen and be serious. I am not joking." Voldemort glared at him pointedly, inwardly bracing himself for the conversation that was going to be held between them right now. 

Of course he never made any kind of a poison, however, he truly couldn't predict how would Harry react to the truth and this uncertainly galled him and made him... nervous. What if the boy would hate him? He had accepted his parents' deaths, but he was very young, he never asked for the cause of it. But now... Would he still trust him, knowing what had been done to him? The potion he made was going to erase Harry’s memories of this conversation, should things get ugly…

"Alright," Harry instantly lost his cheerfulness and humour and sat up straighter, hugging his knees and watching Tom intently. He sensed that the wizard was burdened with something, actually had been for quite some time, now that he thought about it. It was indeed not an appropriate time for jokes and fooling around.

Seeing that the green eyes were now concentrated solely on his red ones Voldemort cleared his throat and, having had crossed his arms over his chest, began, "You see, Harry, I was waiting for all these years for you to grow up enough and to learn to shield your mind so that you could keep our mutual secret safe from others. For we are not going to sit in this house forever. Once you become adult, of legal age, and develop your skills as I see fit, we would go some place else, travel, you would be helping me in my work." The excitement and evident delight that he read in Harry's expression comforted him a little and he leaned closer to the boy, "But this secret is indeed very important, child. It is the reason why you are here and why you are what you are."

Harry swallowed harshly, twisting his fingers, locking them tighter before his knees and looked at Tom fearfully, "What is it then? What am I?" Was he some kind of a monster? Was he... Defected? What horrible truth didn't he know about himself? 

"Let's start from the very beginning," Voldemort murmured and looked away, suddenly reluctant to continue. Perhaps, they could wait another year or two, postpone it further? There was no rush, the boy was very young yet, perhaps, he would take it all more rationally as an adult? Oh, but he had no idea how to bring it, how to explain it all. A skillful orator, who lost all of his charm and talent in the face of a child. "Why I killed your parents. You have asked me once, but I never told you the truth. They were my enemies, yes, but that wasn't the reason why I hunted them down." 

"Why?" Harry whispered, shivering all of a sudden. He almost never thought of it, he couldn't remember his mother and father anymore, there was black nothingness instead of the memories of them. Somehow, he had never really questioned Tom's motives and actions, he was so used to the notion that whatever the man did - it was always right.

"Less than a year before you were born a prophecy had been made," Voldemort said quietly, avoiding to meet the other's gaze. "It said that there would be a child born at the end of the seventh month, a child, marked by me, that would be able to vanquish me, would posses a power I know not... It wasn't hard to find you. There were two of you, actually. You, the son of Potters, and another boy, the son of Longbottoms. I knew that I had to kill this dangerous child in order to protect myself. Not that I was afraid a mere infant would be able to defeat me, no," he chuckled ruefully, mirthlessly, "But I knew very well that the Light side would turn him into a weapon against me. Not only a physical weapon, but a social as well, if I may say so. That was why I hunted your family down and killed them all on the Halloween night of 1981." 

Harry blinked dumbly at Tom, barely comprehending what had he been told. "But you didn't kill me..." he creased his brow, confused and suddenly afraid.

"No," Voldemort shook his head and turned to peer at the boy, rubbing his hands on each other hard, for they were cold as ice, even though he intensified the heat in the room. "Something stopped me. I still don't know what, a premonition of a sort, perhaps. I looked at you, and you were so... Helpless. I felt trapped and uncertain. The prophecy clearly stated that a child would be capable of defeating me, but how? I decided to study the problem before making a final decision and took you away, here. I wanted to have both of you boys, to understand which one of you was the actual... Savior." 

"A savior?" Harry breathed out shakily.

"I am the Dark Lord Voldemort, Harry, I am not just a dark wizard, I am a leader of all the Dark force of our country, I do not simply fight in the war - I have started it. Light wizards and those, who aren't on my side, hate me and fear me, you were their only hope, their salvation, for they are desperate to do whatever it takes to kill me," he explained very slowly, watching the boy intently. 

"The Dark Lord Voldemort?" Of course Harry had read all about him in the newspapers, about all of his horrible deeds... He always thought Tom was one of the Death Eaters - he couldn't really be this frightening, insane warlock, whose name was prohibited to even be said out loud. 

"The other boy died in an accident, I haven't even had a chance to see him. His death left you as the only candidate," he told him hurriedly and stood up, unable to sit still. He stepped away and turned his back to Harry, squeezing his eyes shut. He had never expected this to be so difficult. 

"But, but... If I am destined to kill you, why... Why have you saved me? Raised me?" Harry asked in a small voice, feeling the tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn't understand, the truth was so overwhelming, he wished he never knew. How could Tom... Stand him? Did he even like him at all? Was his friendship also a lie, to protect himself? 

"I have decided to raise you because this would have hurt the Light side the most. Killing you was the easiest solution, but not the most efficient one. But," he turned around sharply, desperately trying to calm himself down. He never wanted Harry then, he never cared if the boy lived, but now... Now Harry meant so much more to him than just a horcrux, than a mean of revenge. "But it was the right decision, Harry, I have never once regretted it ever since." The wet, shining emerald eyes watched him pleadingly, fearfully, and he found himself moving closer, burning with the desire to comfort the child whom he liked so much. "I wasn't myself then, I was... Frightened. I admit that to you, it is also a secret, I was afraid for my life and for my work. All I could think of was vengeance and self-preservation... The scar," he bent down and caressed it with his index finger, "Is the mark that I gave you."

Shuddering under the cold touch Harry reached out for his forehead as well, rubbing on the lightning bolt, that had always attracted Tom so much, he could never understand why. Until now. "But why have you marked me, if the prophecy said... If you haven't done that you could have cancelled it!" his lips trembled as he whispered, pressing his fingers against the man's long, gentle ones. 

"I have given you the power the prophecy said about as well," Voldemort explained, sitting down next to Harry and taking him by the chin to push his head up and look into his eyes. "I am immortal Harry. And in order to achieve my immortality I had to split my soul into several pieces, with one particularly dark, ancient spell. The pieces are usually kept in vessels, called horcruxes, which are safely hidden away from everybody else. If I get killed, I would simply resurrect from one of them..." The boy barely breathed, listening to him and crying soundlessly. "There are two horcruxes I have made before I met you. A journal and a locket, both are hidden. That night, when I came to kill you, I was planning to make my third horcrux out of a ring of mine. You see, you have to perform an act of murder to fracture your soul enough for the spell to work. Since I killed your parents I was ready to create a vessel... I decided to hide a piece of my soul inside of you instead. And this scar... is the evidence of that. You are a keeper of my soul, Harry. That is why you bleed and hurt, when I am angry, that is why you and I can sense each other so acutely, that is why our magic is similar, our cores - identical. We share a soul and a life." 

He wished to tear away, out of the other's hold, but Tom was so gentle, spoke so softly, he looked nothing like a dark lord, nothing like the most feared warlock in the world. And his eyes, blood red eyes, usually cold and uncaring, were warm and kind now. For the life of him Harry couldn't understand how could the man be two so different people at once, how could he kill others so carelessly and mercilessly and yet spend so much time and strength on raising him, a boy, who was supposed to defeat him? And Tom's soul... It was inside of him! Harry clutched on his shirt, rubbing on his chest and sobbing, frightened and helpless. What did it all mean? What was he supposed to do now? 

"Is there... I don't have my own soul anymore? Am I just a vessel?" he whined meekly, finally jerking away from the man's cold hand.

He should have told him later. Now there was no turning back. Voldemort closed his eyes exhaustedly and heaved a long sigh. "You have your own soul, Harry, we are different after all. You are technically a vessel, but... Actually you are a human being," he looked up at him, trying to convey as much calmness and reassurance through their link as he could master, "You are a normal magical boy, a future wizard, my wizard." He moved closer, but Harry jerked away again, so sharply, he would have fallen from the sofa if Voldemort didn't catch him by the shoulders. He hesitantly pressed the boy against his side, circling one of his arms around his small, trembling frame and murmured into the mop of raven hair, "I am not going to hurt or kill you, Harry. I promise. You are not just a keeper of my soul, you are my friend. I care about you, isn't that what friends do? You said that yourself, remember?" 

Shaking all over Harry leaned closer and buried his face in Tom's robe despite the fear that was gripping his heart in a vice and chocking him, squeezing his throat tightly. The wizard touched and held him so rarely and now, more than anything Harry needed him and his caress. He wept quietly into the woolen fabric, while his arms found their way around Tom's waist on their own accord it seemed. "I am so frightened," he mumbled weakly, "I don't want it, I don't want it!"

"There is no going back, Harry, you have lived for eight years, bearing my soul and wielding dark magic. I doubt I would be able to take it out of you even if I wanted to," Voldemort sighed again and placed a featherlight kiss on the scar, that was slightly reddened. "I need you, Harry. The prophecy doesn't matter anymore, I simply thought you deserved to know about it. Neither you, nor I are going to kill each other."

Tom needed him. That was all that Harry heard. Tom needed him and he wasn't sending him away, wasn't telling him mean, ugly things, which he couldn't normally live without through the day. "Do you like me? I am not even a person..." he asked whimsically, shifting to put his arms around the man's neck and sob into his tangled, brown hair, that smelled so wonderfully of herbs and fairy's dust. 

"Harry, of course you are a person," Voldemort chided him, scowling at how close they were to each other, at how comfortably close they were - this was very unusual and left him completely ignorant of what to do next. "Of course I like you. Would I be spending so much time with you, if I didn't? Think about it rationally, don't go all hysterical on me." 

"You like me," Harry hiccuped into his ear, and squeezed his eyes shut, as he tightened his hold around him. "But you are the Dark Lord, he hates everybody and doesn't know mercy," he whispered almost inaudibly, afraid to let go, afraid to look into the red eyes and find them cold and angry.

"The Dark Lord Voldemort is a person I have created for others to see, Harry," he said, after he contemplated his answer for a moment. 

Who was Voldemort really? And who was he for that matter? Was he Tom Riddle still or was he the most feared and hated, the darkest and most dangerous warlock of the century? What was a real, true life of his: the one he led in a meeting hall and in battles, or the one he led with Harry? Eight years ago he would have chosen the former without thinking twice. But now... Now he was inclined to believe it was the latter. 

"Voldemort is a man who keeps them all in fear, who rules the Death Eaters and brings chaos, destruction, because there is no other way he can achieve his goals. Me... I am Tom. I control Voldemort and I work on my most important mission of secluding the magical world from muggles, of saving us all. Me and him, we are one, Harry, he lives as long as I do.... But he doesn't have to do anything with you." He stroked the boy's back and shoulders, pressing his nose against the scarred forehead, and felt that warmth grow inside of his chest again, around his heart. Why did it feel so good to hold Harry, why did he want it so much?

"Is that why you never let me into the Great Hall downstairs? Because you meet your followers there?" Harry asked, rubbing on his running nose with his sleeve and turning his face to press it against Tom's. Being so close to him had its soothing effect, hearing his heart beat steadily and calmly helped Harry find the strength to pull himself together, to gulp down the lump of fear in his throat. 

"They all think that you are dead, child," Voldemort nodded his head, involuntarily leaning into the touch of the boy's tender cheek against his own. "If they see you, the news would spread like fire and the Light would try to take you away from me or kill you. I can't let that happen, can I? You are mine, Harry, always will be mine." 

He pushed his fingers into the raven hair and brushed them absentmindedly, scratching slightly on the skin of the head, and closed his eyes, barely restraining himself from purring in pleasure. His boy was so warm, so lovely and smelt so temptingly sweet, he wanted to moan, moan like a beast overwhelmed with the blinding desire. 

A year ago Tom started teaching him dueling, and in the course of their lessons he often taught Harry the rules of surviving. Never trust anybody but yourself. Do not rely on anybody but your instincts and your magic. Always seek for the actual proof, the actual concrete facts - not every written or said word is true. "How do I know you are not trying to trick me?" he asked, pulling away and looking into the ruby eyes carefully. "How do I know you are really Voldemort?"

He couldn't help himself - he smiled, sincerely and pleasantly. Harry was learning so, so well! He cupped the small face with his both palms and hissed in parseltongue, "If you obey me and do everything I say, I will let you see the Death Eaters and the meeting. You will have your proof then." 

The emerald eyes gleamed excitedly and the small, pearly teeth bit on the lower red lip in anticipation. Harry was fearless when it came to sating his curiosity, Voldemort knew that very well and often used it to make the boy give in to the dark power. They were so similar in their personalities, it was hard to believe that the horcrux never affected Harry's consciousness. But it didn't, it didn't. Harry was himself, he was simply free to develop on his own, wasn't confined by any kind of prejudice against his true nature and that was why he grew up so well, so satisfyingly perfect. 

"Alright. When?" Harry held his breath at the sight of the smile he had barely seen at all on the beautiful face of his friend... Tom was his friend after all, wasn't he? He had saved him and cared for him, instead of killing, hadn't he? There were too many contradicting feelings and notions in his heart right now to grasp on one of them and analyze it. He needed to see Voldemort with his own eyes to decide if he could really trust him. That was what Tom had taught him to do. 

"Tonight, at eleven. It would be an ordinary meeting, nothing special. They would report, I would give them new tasks and that is all," he arched his eyebrows mirthfully. 

Somehow, he felt excited to let Harry see his servants, he didn't know why but he wished to share, to show off, to let Harry see just how much they feared him and how pathetic they were in their blind adoration, that was nothing more but a result of their own cowardice and insecurity, weakness. He wished Harry to see them and never grow up the same, grow up differently, become stronger and nobler then they were. No, he didn't need another Death Eater by his side, he needed a friend, a confidant, he needed... his Harry. It was as simple as that. 

xxx

They stood in the hall by his throne, the Death Eaters were going to arrive soon and there was no time to waste. "Give me your wand," Voldemort said, sitting down and crooking his finger at the boy, who was staring around in wonder. 

"Why?" Harry scowled, holding on his wand tightly. "You taught me to never ever give it to anybody else, to always keep it safe."

"Yes, but you are in the Dark Lord Voldemort's hall now, therefore, you must obey his rules if you want to survive," he tilted his head to the side, laughing soundlessly at the child. The older Harry grew, the more interesting their life became, the more intriguingly their game developed. He held out his open palm and the boy grudgingly placed his holly wand onto it. "Now, Daedalus, give me the chain," he purred.

"The chain?!" Harry cried, but before he could move away, Tom had already fastened the steel bracelet around his ankle and the other end of it around the throne's foot. "Whatever for, Tom?!" he tugged on it harshly, but it was fruitless, it was certainly magically sealed from any of his attempts to break it.

"Harry, I raised you, don't you think I know you well enough to take as many precautions as possible?" Voldemort chuckled mirthfully. "I need to stay concentrated on my servants and on every tiny detail of their reports and their behavior. I have no wish to run after you all around the place, for you are incapable of sitting still. Now, come closer, I will put a disillusioning charm on you to make you invisible."

"I am not a bloody dog to be chained!" he objected, however, stepped closer, habitually obeying Tom's order. 

Even after he had heard all of the horrifying truth that he had a very hard time of digesting, he still couldn't resist the red eyed warlock, didn't want to in fact. Harry trusted Tom completely, he wanted to learn to trust Voldemort. Because, if he thought about it, there was no other alternative for him - he wanted to stay with Tom, no matter what had the man done, no matter what had the prophecy said, he wanted to stay with him forever. There was nowhere for Harry to go and, quite frankly, he couldn't imagine his life without his friend, it was painful to even entertain such an idea. Tom was his home and his family.

"I could turn you into one to make it seem fairer to you," he offered lazily, tapping the tip of his yew wand on the top of Harry's head and murmuring the spell. "Do I need to seal your mouth as well or would you be able to keep quiet on your own?" he asked mockingly, looking at the empty spot where he knew the boy was standing. 

"No, I will manage," Harry sneered, shivering at the unpleasant sensation of the charm sticking to his skin. 

He tried the chain again - it was also invisible and soundless. Huffing angrily he plunged himself down onto the floor, only to find a soft pillow underneath his arse - Daedalus smiled at him apologetically and patted him blindly on what he thought was Harry's shoulder. Tom waved his wand to make the pillow invisible too, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in exasperation at the elf's unnecessary care. At least he didn't take it away, Harry inwardly fumed, sulking and sighing loudly to simply irritate the man.

"Quiet now!" a harsh hiss startled him and Harry suddenly felt that stomach churning sensation again. Only now, after he had read about it in the textbook and had learned about it from Tom, he knew it to be the warning from the wards of the manor, that were connected to him through his blood and his magic. 

Dark, hooded and masked figures appeared in the room one by one, entering through the tall, heavy doors, every one of them hastily kneeled before Tom and cried "My lord!" and stood up only by his sign. Harry thought they didn't look that scary here, in fact, he sensed they all were frightened themselves instead, many could barely cover their fear, that practically oozed out of their pores and made their magic buzz and vibrate unsteadily around them. 

"I see the storm has finally begun in the north," Voldemort drawled, watching the cold water pour down Snape's heavy raincloak, when the wizard fell on his knees. 

"Yes, my lord," the potions master agreed, sounding muffled behind the mask. "Muggles have prepared for emergency and are now gathering in the shelters."

"A perfect opportunity to strike," he nodded thoughtfully. 

"Master, let us attack Hogsmeade! It will be our honour to kill these blood-traitors!" an obviously female voice rang in the hall and a smaller, more delicate figure prostrated itself before the throne, and Harry saw a pale, beautiful, but repulsive in its expression of utter madness, face of a witch. She hastily licked on Tom's bare feet, caressing his ankles and knees underneath the robe with her trembling hands, that were covered in small, reddened scars, as if she constantly scratched herself. 

Rolling his eyes and sighing tiredly Voldemort pushed her away and crossed his legs, creasing his brow in annoyance and disgust. He hated when she did that, absolutely hated. "Bella, know your place. Or would you like to receive some help in that?" At her fearful shake of a head he scoffed and dropped his head on his left hand, watching them all impassively. "We are not killing anyone yet. The weather is a perfect opportunity to strike and destroy the military base, that muggles had recently finished. Let them think it was a diversion from abroad - if they start another war it would only be to our profit. Let them kill each other, while we sit and watch." 

Although he spoke in his usual lazy manner and surveyed each and every one of his followers very closely, he kept stealing brief glances to his right, where Harry sat by his side. The boy hadn't moved, hadn't let a sound out, and he wondered what was he thinking, what was he experiencing deep in that lovely soul of his...

Harry carefully watched Tom, or was he Voldemort now? His every move, his every glance addressed to him Harry caught and cherished despite himself. Even though he was harsh and unfair and was the Dark Lord... Tom still kept worrying for him. It caused a flattering sensation in his abdomen as if a hundred red butterflies flied inside of him. Voldemort and Tom might have been one person, but mostly it was Tom, he saw it now. This was just a place where all of his anger and frustration could be let out, this place, these people were what he despised and hated. All this was what helped him stay humane and be kind to his personal little wizard Harry. Did Tom truly like him? Could he love him? Could somebody who killed people ruthlessly and carelessly love a small boy? 

Harry sighed quietly and propped his elbows on his knees, his chin on his palms and looked back at the Death Eaters. How could ordinary wizards be so afraid of them? When they all trembled under the gaze of just one man? Harry couldn't understand, he simply couldn't. Perhaps, because he stopped fearing Tom altogether? But what if the world saw his friend for who he really was, like Harry saw him, could they stop hating him, maybe accept him? It all seemed too difficult to him now, there was nobody he could ask for an opinion on the matter.

It took almost an hour to listen to the boring, identical reports of different spies, ministry moles and purebloods, who communicated with their supporters abroad. Voldemort listened, nodded his head or clicked his tongue at the appropriate times, but his thoughts were concentrated solely on the invisible wizard, future warlock, who stopped breathing it seemed - so still he was, so soundless. He had no idea how had Harry taken his confession, the boy cried, but, after he held him for some time, calmed down and simply hid in his room until it was time for the meeting. What conclusions had he drawn from the truth that Voldemort opened to him? Did Harry hate him now? This was so confusing and unsettling... He used to bask in other's hatred, this was one of the few emotions he valued highly and cultivated inside of him for his whole life. Yet when it came to Harry there was never any certainty. 

Voldemort never hated the boy, there was no sensible reason for that, really. And now that his little wizard grew so fast and matured at a maddening pace he found he didn't know how to read Harry, how to understand his feelings. Even though he could sense every emotion, could read any thought, any secret through their horcrux link - the child remained a complete mystery. And now that he looked at the empty spot next to him he wondered if Harry would hate him after all, and suddenly realized that he didn't want that to happen. He couldn't stand the thought that his boy would suddenly stop liking him, looking up to him and annoying him with these beautiful, mischievous smiles of his, would stop trying to touch and kiss him... Voldemort snorted at the sharp pain in his chest, laughing at the thought that Harry had actually become his friend. A hundred of dangerous dark wizard stood around him and here he was, in the spotlight, trembling at the notion that a ten year old boy might never grace him with his kindness again. Pathetic. 

"Tom, is it normal that one of them is really, really scared that he has just pissed himself?" He heard a quiet hiss into his ear and felt a warm breath bush against his cheek. Voldemort scowled and stared into nothingness, where he thought Harry's eyes could be. It was the oddest question the boy could come up with during a Death Eater meeting, however, he was disturbed by it. They did fear him, awfully, to the point that they were ready to sell their friends and families out to stay in his favour. But none of them were weak physically, mostly they were purebloods or experienced criminals - neither of which could fall so low, disgrace themselves so much... 

"Which one, can you tell?" he replied in parseltongue, sending everybody into a nervous shudder. Harry's observation could mean only one thing - there was a stranger in their midst. Someone, who hadn't been invited. 

"I felt him spelling the smell off, but there is a puddle underneath his feet, I can see torchlights reflect in it," Harry too spoke in the serpent's language. He put his hand over Tom's, in which a wand was being held, and gently, almost imperceptibly turned it in the direction of the strange wizard, pointing at him. 

"Good boy," he smirked, seemingly to himself, and waved his hand dismissively at the crowd, frozen in anticipation. "Get out, all of you. I will call for you later... However," he bared his teeth, gracing them with a feral grin, and bent slight forward, pointing his wand at the two figures in the back, "You and you, stay behind. Severus, stay as well." 

Harry watched how everybody suddenly grew excited and anxious, reluctantly walking out of the hall and throwing knowing, hungry looks at the two wizards, who stood by the wall and stared at their own feet. A man, whom Tom called 'Severus' took off his mask and Harry barely held back a gasp of recognition - he had seen him before, right in this room, when he had first crept in here a few years ago. 

"My lord?" Severus came closer and dared to raise his eyes to steal a glance at the face of his master. Voldemort looked... Excited. It didn't promise anything good and he hastily strengthened his mind shields, briefly wondering if he hadn't forgotten to take a healing potion with him. 

"Severus," Voldemort sighed, gracefully standing up and taking a few long, light steps into the middle of the hall, "Tell me, how self-confident are you? What have compelled you to go as far as to bring spies into my house?" he spoke softly, watching the two men carefully. They both reeked of fear, he could sense it now very acutely. They were so frightened they couldn't move away, couldn't run, but just in case he threw a binding spell at each one of them and took their wands.

"What?!" Severus was genuinely surprised and scared. He would have never agreed to bring another spy in here, it would have been the end of his life. "My lord, I never..."

Voldemort raised his hand to shut Snape up and laughed coldly, "I know, I know, my dear Severus, you are too much of a coward for that. You value your life much more than the Order after all, that is why you are still unharmed... Though I would like to change that. Crucio!" 

Harry covered his mouth, staring at the horrible scene with wide, astonished eyes. He had learned all about the Unforgivable Curses already, Tom made sure he knew every last detail, but forbade Harry to ever try to use them on his own. Not that Harry felt very enthusiastic about them anyway... He was always curious how much did it hurt and now he had his proof that it did hurt like hell. The man named Severus thrashed on the floor, screaming, choking on his own vomit and saliva, as he helplessly tried to stand on his fours. His body jerked, convulsed with an unnatural strength, blood ran out of his nose and mouth and soon his hoarse cries turned into a harsh wheezing. Tom cancelled the curse right before the wizard fainted, leaving him to suffer on the brink of consciousness. 

"Of what use are you to me, if you never know anything, Severus? Hmm?" Voldemort shook his head in a disappointment and flicked his fingers, "My elf will take you away, I have no wish to look at you any longer." When Daedalus obediently arrived and took the shaking and barely breathing wizard by the arm, he waved his hand and lazily drawled, "Take him out of my sight, leave him somewhere in a gutter, where he belongs." 

The elf and the man disappeared and Harry finally allowed himself to let out his breath, panting slightly. This wasn't Tom, this was Voldemort, only he could do that to another person, that hadn't done anything wrong. Perhaps, Voldemort was everything evil and twisted, rotten, that poisoned Tom's soul and mind? Perhaps, very much like a prince, he had been cursed by a witch to forever stay a beast unless somebody learned to love him for what he was? A lonely tear ran down Harry's cheek as he watched Tom biting on his lower lip and and licking on it in anxiety and desire, his red eyes grew unrecognizably hard and cruel and his beautiful face once again became distorted, marred with an expression of inhuman nature. He looked terrifying. 

"Would you like to see what I do with traitors and spies, Harry?" Voldemort murmured, twisting his wrist to the side to make the boy visible again. "Would you like to see what I do with those, who think themselves to be better, smarter than I am?" The two men, bound to the wall, started jerking harshly, struggling with their invisible, magical chains, but all of their attempts were for naught. 

"Wh-what are you going to do?" Harry asked tentatively, watching his friend fearfully. How hard it was to distinguish Tom from Voldemort now, when he saw the very same face he liked so much, heard the very same harsh, mean voice he learned to enjoy. How hard it was to forget that just a few hours earlier these very hands held him so nicely, so gently, only to bring pain and death upon others now. 

"I am going to demonstrate the Unforgivables to you," Tom smiled at him viciously. "You have learned all about them, haven't you? But all these theories are useless without the practical experience, don't you agree? Let's start with the easiest and harmless one. Imperio!" 

Harry gasped at the sensation of his legs and arms turning soft and weightless, as if he was floating above the ground, and his mind began gradually clouding with a strange, thick mist, that was just as frightening as it was pleasant. "T-tom..." he tried meekly, but his tongue refused to obey him and he looked up helplessly, feeling the comprehension slowly leaving him.

"There are not many strong willed people in our world, Harry, only very powerful wizards are capable of fighting this curse," Voldemort told him carelessly, moving closer to the boy and watching him expectantly. "You are powerful, but are you strong in your spirit, I wonder? I want you to stand by my side, however, I doubt you would be... Good enough." 

These words hurt him worse than any hexes or insults, these words scared him worse than blood and the notion that the two men that he had never seen in his life were going to die tonight, die from his friend's hand. He couldn't disappoint Tom, he couldn't! He was good enough to be with him, he was powerful, he learned so well and he could, of course, make his mentor and master proud. "No!" he cried, pushing the intensifying haze of nothingness away. 

"That's my boy," Voldemort smiled, pleased, holding his wand lazily in his fingers. "How about you take your wand and send a cutting hex at our guests, hmm?" 

"N-no!" Harry jerked his head to the side, fighting his arm that stretched out to reach for the wand that lay on Tom's open palm. His fingers squeezed the warm wood, habitually tightly to feel the welcoming vibration better. He sobbed helplessly, as an invisible force slowly turned him around and made him raise his holly wand. "No, I'm strong!" 

Harry shut his eyes closed and strained his every nerve, his every muscle to resist the itching underneath his skin. It was what he had discovered in himself recently - this strange inclination towards darkness, towards going into extremes and beyond himself. Flying helped him develop the itch into a desire of sorts. When he asked Tom what was it, his friend told him that it was his nature, his dark magic taking over him, that he was ought to let it win, in order to become a powerful warlock. But right now... What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to fight what he welcomed with open arms? Had Tom been testing him all this time? 

"No!" he pushed his arm down sharply and the tip of his wand erupted with an angry shower of ruby sparkles. 

"Splendid, Harry!" Voldemort purred, praising his boy, and sighed lustfully. 

Fighting his own magic in Harry felt akin to masturbation, the more the boy struggled the more pleasant it was to intensify the pressure. Now that Harry began developing his 'dark side' even their learning duels turned into a patience testing sessions. The boy turned him on, he knew that now. 

"Very good. Now, relax and watch how lethal can Cruciatus be," he offered and threw the curse at one of the wizards, not really caring to even take off their masks and find out who had sent them. 

One of them was a recently recruited Death Eater, a notorious gambler, it was obvious that he had simply sold his master out for good money. The other one, that pissed himself, was a light wizard, now that there was no crowd in the room he sensed it. Whatever his mission was - and Voldemort suspected it was to find a way to break into the manor and determine its location - he was a dead man already and wasn't going to help the Order.

Breathing heavily, as his weight and consciousness were gradually coming back to him, Harry winced every time the man let out a high-pitched cry, wriggling and thrashing harshly in painful agony. Because of the Imperio his mind shields fell and he suddenly acknowledged that he was sharing Tom's agitation, satisfaction, anger and lust. And arousal. Harry blushed fiercely in realization that all of these were not his emotions, but his penis was suddenly hard and pulsed maddeningly in his trousers. This had never happened to him before and he bit on the inside of his cheek in helplessness and embarrassment when just as unexpectedly it burst with something hot and wet, and a shivering wave of pleasure made him shudder and roll his eyes back, swaying on his feet. Had he pissed himself? What was that? He distantly noticed Tom's low, quiet moan, that sounded too loud in a deafening silence that had fallen around them. The man on the floor was dead. His body didn't move anymore, lying in a puddle of blood that was slowly floating onto the polished stones. 

"Ah... How did you like that, my little wizard?" Voldemort laughed, slightly drunk on the overwhelming release that he had just experienced. Harry's confused stare and oddly red face made him crease his brow and shake his head, concentrate on the present. He came closer and took the boy by the chin to look him into the emerald eyes that were wet with tears of... shame. 

"What is it, Harry?" he murmured, gently entering his mind. He had never legilimized anybody carefully, striving to bring his victims as much suffering and pain as it was possible, yet when he began teaching Harry he found it wasn't very efficient, for the boy had to know the difference, to be able to master the art in the future... And ever since he always did it gently, vigilant not to hurt Harry more than necessary. "Why are you so ashamed of yourself, my child? You did well." 

But there it was. Shame and perplexion, misunderstanding. Harry had his first orgasm because of their link, they shared even physical pleasure... Voldemort couldn't help but smile hesitantly, for this was one of the matters he hadn't considered before. He never really thought he would have to talk to Harry about a man's needs, about puberty and hormones, lust and desire. 

"Nothing wrong happened, Harry," he muttered uncertainly, frantically seeking for the right words. Why was he himself embarrassed now, for Salazar's sake? "What you have experienced is very natural. It was mine, but... You would too experience this soon," he added awkwardly and hastily pulled his hand away. It was disturbing to tell a boy, who turned him on, about pleasure, masturbation, sex and everything it entailed. 

"Why did... you feel it?" Harry whispered, lowering his eyes shyly and hiding his hands behind his back, twisting his fingers in discomfort. 

"This is what the powerful curses like the Unforgivables do to a wizard, who gives in to temptation. This is the allure of the dark power," Voldemort told him, watching the boy intently, inwardly cursing himself for being so soft and caring all of a sudden. He didn't have to explain himself to a child! "You know very well that the intent is the most important factor behind your magic, Harry. However, power doesn't come for free, can't be taken for granted - that you know too. Magic gives you power yet takes something back in exchange. Spells like Cruciatus make a wizard addicted to them, and make others' pain into wizard's pleasure. This addiction must be controlled, otherwise it will turn you insane. It is a double-edged sword: it breaks sanity of both the caster and the victim, by hurting the one and pleasing the other... Soon you will learn that there is a very thin line between pain and pleasure." He averted his gaze and cleared his throat, suddenly insecure. 

When was Harry going to mature physically? How was he going to learn about the real pleasure? Who was he going to choose for himself? The last thought gripped his heart in a vice and he scowled darkly at the unreasonable ache in his chest. 

"Oh," Harry nodded weakly, trying to comprehend if he wanted to feel all this in the future or not and if there was a way to avoid it. 

"We have another guest to attend to, however," Voldemort perked up, trying to cover his own confusion and embarrassment. "The last and the most prohibited and feared curse... What can you tell me about it?" He glanced at the boy, who kept twisting his fingers and staring down at his toes. "Harry?"

Raising his head up sharply he dutifully answered, "Avada Kedavra. It is a Killing Curse. It works only with a strong, determined intent behind it. A wizard must either desire to murder another, or desire to save him, to put him out of his misery."

"Very good. Never let anybody tell you that this curse is illegal and must be never used. It is the most merciful death you can grant another human being, whatever your intent might be," Voldemort said firmly and turned to the man who had already lost his consciousness from shock, "Avada Kedavra." A flash of green light flickered fast before them and disappeared. 

Harry watched the now dead wizard, but there were no signs that he had been in pain or that the curse was going to maim him any further. He simply stopped breathing. "Did you torture my... parents?" he asked very quietly, barely above the whisper.

"No." He looked at the boy seriously and placed his hand onto the small, thin shoulder, stroking it imperceptibly with his fingers, "I granted them a merciful death, Harry, they didn't deserve to be tortured."

"Good," Harry sighed, feeling an unexpected lightness in his soul, as if a great burden had been taken off of it, and involuntarily jerked forward to press himself into Tom's tall frame, circled his arms around the other's narrow waist and hid his face in the layers of the warm robe. 

He knew it was impossible to ignore that Tom was a murderer and a cruel, very cruel man, but... Harry couldn't help it, he liked him. He didn't fear, on the contrary, felt safest with the wizard, warmest, when they were close. Tom was both good and bad and somehow it seemed normal to Harry, realistic. He doubted that truly good people existed at all, and despite all of his ruthlessness, merciless and anger his master, his mentor and friend was the kindest person he had ever met. He hadn't met many people, true, but in Harry's eyes Tom was better than anybody else. Most importantly Tom was his. And he was taught that he was to cherish and protect everything that belonged to him and never ever let anybody take it from him. 

"I trust you, whoever you are, Voldemort or Tom," he mumbled into the clothes.

"Pleased to hear that," Voldemort muttered, standing rigidly in other's embrace, that he used to despise so much in the past and desired immensely now, but Harry was a bloody child, his ward, his little wizard, he was so young and... So warm. And kind. And beautiful. How could he break something that belonged to him? No, of course he couldn't hurt Harry. The boy would grow up and find his own way of satisfying himself, they were never meant to be lovers, he didn't need one. A friend was quite enough for him. 

"It is time to go to bed, Harry. I suspect you would have nightmares tonight after everything you have witnessed... You know where the Dreamless Sleep draught is kept, to drink it or not is your own choice." He wasn't going to sleep tonight anyway and his mind was going to be shielded from whatever disturbance that Harry might endure. 

"Alright," Harry hummed, suddenly yawning. Only now he realized how actually exhausted he felt, how drained he was after such a tiresome, difficult day. He grudgingly let go of Tom, who pulled away, and followed him out of the room, wondering absentmindedly if one day he would be able to sleep in Tom's arms again. He wanted that so much. "Eww, gross!" he cried when his foot got into the still warm, thick blood on the floor, and he hastily stepped aside and stumbled back to the doors. 

"You know the cleaning charm, Harry," Voldemort let the corners of his mouth rise up slightly at the sight of a particularly ridiculous grimace on the lovely face. "Get used to blood and other unpleasant substances, that a human body can produce. Whether you want it or not you would grow up soon and would have to face fights, wounds, death and gore. The sooner you accept it the easier it would be for you, my boy." 

He watched Harry clean himself carelessly with a quick, practiced wave of his wand and felt a bout of pride again. Children who attended Hogwarts rarely gained such ease and grace in wielding their magic before maturing both mentally and physically, yet his boy was already developed so well, was so natural in everything he did, was so... Fascinating. Yes, he was fascinating. 

xxx

Harry honestly tried not to think about it, but as the time passed he grew more certain that his and Tom's relationship tended to be... odd. Whenever they touched he could sense this strange weakness inside of him, the fluttering of the butterflies in his abdomen and his breath seemed to leave him. Tom... He couldn't sense him, no, the man shielded himself thoroughly, but in all the years they have spent together Harry learned to read the slightest transitions in his friend's face, the tiniest gleams and flashes in his blood red eyes and he knew, he subconsciously knew Tom felt just the same about him. 

Even though the wizard tried to reduce their physical contact to minimum it was fruitless, for every time they dueled, their excitement and passion brought them closer, every time Harry forgot to take the right stance Tom corrected him by holding him and showing him the right way... Every time there was a meeting at the manor - and Harry was now allowed to attend them all, without chains or any other confinements but invisibility - his master watched him instead of his followers, listened to his breathing and commentaries instead of reports... Every time they read together in the study before the fire Tom tried to distance himself, but couldn't resist to let Harry rest his head against his knees...

Harry had just turned fourteen and was, perhaps, too young yet, but he, in fact, did understand. He saw the signs. He shared them. He wanted Tom and Tom wanted him, and there was this awkward, unbearable rim between them every time they got too close to each other. Ever since he got his first orgasm at the age of ten Harry couldn't stop thinking about it and dreaming of Tom, couldn't stop masturbating to the voluptuous fantasies that bloomed in his vivid imagination. During the last three years he had suddenly grown, visibly matured, was tall and lean now, didn't look like a child anymore. Daedalus said it was puberty and growth spurt, that he was becoming a man. And the more he changed, the more Tom tried to draw the line between them, the line the man kept constantly crossing despite all of his attempts to fight it. 

Now that Harry was older he was allowed to fly into Little Hangleton, invisible of course, and watch people, pretend to be a muggle and buy himself whatever he wanted, with Daedalus always nearby to watch out for him. That way Tom was trying to teach him responsibility and showed him that he was trusted enough to be left to his own devices. That way Harry learned to use Imperio masterfully and made everybody do his bidding, for he didn't want Tom to storm into the town and kill everyone simply because somebody forced Harry into a fight. That way he legilimized every person he met, sharing their knowledge and experience... That way he found magazines and books on everything sex related. 

Somehow his mentor was incapable of teaching him anything on the subject, and since he never cared what else Harry read apart from the mandatory list and what else did he do in his spare time it was easy to smuggle anything into the manor, erotic magazines especially. However, even after Harry learned everything about sex there was to know he still was rather confused by the whole concept. If it was so necessary for the organism why didn't Tom have anybody to satisfy his needs? He couldn't last on Cruciatus only, it was impossible. Harry often wondered why hadn't there been anybody else in his friend's life except for him - of course Tom had a rotten personality, horrible temper and was the Dark Lord, but that didn't mean he couldn't force anybody to indulge him. There was this insane witch Bellatrix, whom Harry was honestly afraid of, she looked like she would have given anything to be let into her lord's bedroom... But Tom was alone. It seemed as if he had consciously isolated himself, consciously deprived himself of the pleasures he could have had...

Harry lay on the bed, surrounded by porn magazines, and mused about their strange life together. On one hand he understood perfectly well that Tom could be simply uncomfortable with the notion that the boy, whom he raised, attracted him more than it was appropriate. But on the other... On the other hand he was attracted to Tom so much it drove him insane. Women, girls... They didn't interest him. He watched their seductive poses and naked bodies on the pages and however hard he stroked himself they didn't arouse him. But when he thought about the red eyed man's touch, when he closed his eyes and imagined him licking on the lightning bolt scar and holding him so gently, so very close, he came in just a few harsh pumps and muffled moans. Imagining Tom kissing him was akin to torture, Harry desperately wished to know what would it feel like, for he hadn't had once tried... 

Sighing in disappointment he threw the magazines under the bed and rolled to lie flat on his stomach, with his half-hard penis pressed against the silk sheets. He wondered what Tom did to resist the temptation, how was he struggling with this weird situation... Was he struggling at all? This uncertainty disturbed Harry, he was used to rely on concrete facts and practical experience, not some useless theories. How could he know for sure if Tom liked him? If Tom truly wanted him? He knew he was too young, though he honestly felt older, more mature than he really was... Harry felt ready, but ready for what? He didn't know. He needed Tom's help to understand that.

xxx

August had turned out absolutely horrible this year, the rain didn't seem to stop for days. Two weeks had passed since Harry's fourteenth birthday and the Dark Lord had to allow the boy to fly, for the raven haired menace wasn't going to leave him in peace. Harry worked very hard, both on his studies and on Voldemort's nerves to earn his present - his new broom, Firebolt, and kept trying his master’s and Daedalus' patience with constant whining and tantrums. Since hexes and curses didn't help there was no other option but to let him have it his way. 

And so Voldemort stood by the window of his study and watched, as he had been doing all these long twelve years, watched and marveled his personal wizard playing outside. Now that Harry grew he mostly flew and played quidditch with himself and magically constructed opponents, made of whatever rubbish he could find - whenever he wanted to indulge himself in anything he always did it personally, without asking for help - Voldemort was proud he taught Harry that so well. 

His flying was, of course, perfect. He was born for this, either it was his father's genes, or it was his enormous power, Voldemort didn't really care, he simply enjoyed watching Harry spin and perform terrifyingly dangerous feints, dart sharply up to the very stars only to fall down and stop mere inches above the ground, barely avoiding a precarious collision... His boy was free and careless, so young and so magnificent in his youth and beauty, it was hard to tear one's eyes off of him. They often went out into the world and Voldemort knew how actually impressive, beautiful Harry was - he caught every interested glance thrown his way, by his count he had already killed a few hundred people with his possessive glares only... How embarrassing it was to behave himself so childishly, so unfittingly. Of course he was jealous, he couldn't stand the fact that his wizard could be touched by somebody else, liked by somebody else, wanted by... He was absolutely smitten with Harry, wasn't he? 

Voldemort growled to himself lowly, scowling at the small figure, that was moving unimaginably fast between the trees, diving and turning so sharply he felt his heart skip its beats every bloody time... The more Harry grew the more unbearable it was to stand him, to stand the distance between them. How easy it would have been to simply embrace him and kiss on those red lips, that always smiled. His eyes followed the boy's undignified fall and his eyebrows shot up sarcastically in humour when Harry swore filthily, crawling out of the deep, muddy puddle that their pond had turned into during the cold, rainy summer. The old elf instantly was by his master's side, trying to clean him up, but the boy refused and stubbornly continued his game, dirty and angry. 

Shaking his head at the temper that he had always found so lovely Voldemort reluctantly left his watching post and returned to the papers on his desk. But the annoying thought just couldn't leave his mind. He wondered what Harry looked like wet and naked. Such musings took most of his free time, he had even reduced his nightly visits to three times per week, so tempted he was to find out. But giving up watching Harry sleep was beyond his strength of will... Voldemort felt enchanted, as if the boy permanently kept him under Imperio. He simply couldn't get enough of Harry and whenever he tried to stay away there was always a reason to cease any of his weak, pathetic attempts. 

He didn't realize it was that late until he heard Daedalus' loud complaints in the corridor. The elf was chiding Harry for flying for so long under the rain in complete darkness. Voldemort looked up at the old clock on the wall - it was almost midnight, he had immersed himself into his work so deeply he hadn't noticed the time. It was indeed too much for a day and Harry should have known better than to disobey Daedalus. Sighing he rose up, stretching on his way. Taking the broom away from the boy was fair after all, he had to analyze his own mistakes and get a hold of that temper of his, for Salazar's sake. Such stubbornness was of course typical for a teenager, but it seemed a little over the edge for usually very rational and intelligent Harry. Perhaps, he was trying to get rid of his frustration? 

It wasn't the first time Voldemort had noticed that the boy was burdened with something, but since he had never come to him for help or advice, as he always did, it meant that Harry was determined to work it out all by himself. That was laudable, he encouraged that and wasn't going to squeeze the information out of him. However, the broom had to be confiscated, if only for the sake of baiting Harry. Smiling cruelly to himself, pleased with his plan, Voldemort walked out of the study and into the boy's room to bring him the news, but... Harry was already asleep. He had fallen onto his bed still dressed into his flying uniform and covered in a thick layer of mud, and was snoring peacefully, completely ignorant to whatever was going on around him, to the chaos he had wrecked in his own room.

"What a swine... I will pick him up, you clean it all," Voldemort sighed, addressing Daedalus, and raised his hand to magically levitate Harry up, while the elf changed the ruined bed and banished the dirt off of the boy. He bowed and disappeared with the ball of filthy sheets, leaving the undressing to his master. 

Harry woke up the second he felt no hard surface underneath him, but since he knew he was in his room he never gave himself out, in favour of watching what would happen next. It was the second time he remembered Tom to ever come into his bedroom and wondered what was the cause of his visit. It surely wasn't the generous offer to help the elf, since Daedalus had had much harder times cleaning him up after quidditch... He decided to keep his breathing steady and his eyes firmly shut and to find out whatever it was that Tom had in mind.

Voldemort gently put Harry down and came closer to take his clothes off. He could have simply changed them into pajamas in one flick of his wrist, but something compelled him to do it all manually, to use the unique opportunity to see Harry naked... He sat down next to the boy and slowly began unbuttoning the outer short robe, smiling slightly to himself. 

"You are so slovenly, my dear," he hissed in parseltongue, barely audibly, "How unfitting for a young lord." The robe neatly folded itself on the back of a chair, while Voldemort started on the thick, warm shirt. Every button, that escaped its gape, revealed more of the pale, tender skin and he touched it lightly with the very tips of his fingers, teasing himself. "My beautiful, beautiful boy," he breathed out and spread the shirt open, watching the thin but slightly toned, naked chest and a flat stomach rising slowly, steadily. A narrow line of sparse, dark hair began at the navel and ran all the way down to the waist and hid underneath the trousers. Voldemort placed his palm over the lightly developed muscles and stroked the abdomen, taking his time to caress the hairline as well. "Harry, Harry," he clicked his tongue, "Made solely of tempting, forbidden ingredients, aren't you?"

Harry concentrated on keeping up with his breathing, for the situation had obviously gotten out of hand. He did have his suspicions that Tom had probably visited him at nights before, for he sometimes woke up to dreams of somebody stroking his hair, or his face, his back and shoulders... The man seemed to be so at ease here, so used to all this... How long had he been watching him sleep? How far had Tom's affections gone, most importantly when? When had it all started? The feeling of the other's hand pressed against his stomach sent electric waves down his pelvis and the traitorous heat concentrated right there... This wasn't going to end well.

"How truly shameful of me to sneak up on you like that," Voldemort sighed, leaning closer to inhale Harry's scent, and pressed his nose and lips against the collarbone, breathing deeply, heavily. "But I can't control myself anymore. This was never supposed to happen... Though I am truly incapable of regret, as they say," he smirked and kissed one of the nipples lightly, careful to touch as softly and imperceptibly as possible.

Harry fisted his hand into the bed's cover, as the only mean of pulling himself together. Tom's long, mellow brown hair was brushing against his skin, tickling on it so teasingly, so cruelly, he wished to grab on the tangled locks and press them against his face, bury himself in their wonderful, wonderful smell... Inwardly he prayed he would be able to hold back his moans that were struggling to burst out of his chest, and his heart was beating so much faster now, he knew it was just a matter of seconds before Tom noticed he wasn't asleep and left him... He wished to prolong this, he never thought his friend was so... Gentle and loving.

Voldemort pulled back and heaved a long, miserable sigh, looking at the trousers uncertainty. They had to be taken off as well, of course, but the notion that he would see everything else, everything he hadn't seen once in twelve years, made him feel suddenly embarrassed of himself and his pathetic lust. It was a boy, barely a teenager, his horcrux, for Salazar's sake... His Harry. His hand moved towards the buttons on its own accord it seemed and he held his breath, as he slowly unfastened them and pulled the fabric down. Even the boys's genitals were perfect. He grimaced at the thought that all this belonged to him and he couldn't allow himself to have it. He was his own worst enemy, wasn't he? "

You are absolutely perfect, my dear," he murmured and traced the length of the half hard penis down with his index finger.

Harry held his breath, frozen into shock by the careful, modest touch, that sent goosebumps all over his body and of course made his cock stone hard almost immediately. A soft, quiet laughter broke the silence of the darkness of his room and another stroke from the base and down to the very head made Harry let out a shuddering sigh, for it was impossible to hold it back anymore. In fact, he wanted to cry - so good it felt, so seductive and absolutely fantastic, impossible the whole situation seemed. He briefly wondered if he hadn't been dreaming yet again, but a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth told him it all was very much real.

"It is rather beneficial that you are asleep now," Voldemort whispered, kissing the red lips again, barely touching them, afraid he might not be able to control himself, "And can't see me smile." 

He caressed the cheek that wasn't as plump as it used to be, the chin that demonstrated just how strong willed his boy was, the long neck, the pulsing vein, that showed through the almost porcelain skin... His fingers ran down despite his rational thoughts of stopping before it was too late and finally reached the penis that was begging to be taken care of. 

"How impatient," he moaned quietly and kissed its base, breathing shakily against the tender skin. The things he would have loved to do with it, the things he would have loved to make Harry do to him... "Oh, Harry," he sighed against the pulsing head and gasped softly when with a weak groan the boy came right into his hand. 

This was so embarrassing and so amazing Harry had to clench his teeth and bit on the inside of his cheek very hard in order to prevent himself from jumping up and assaulting Tom's lips. This was so different from his own strokes and caresses... He had been barely touched and he came so harshly, so wonderfully... If only those lips could kiss his cock and take it inside... The mere thought of Tom doing it to him made his insides squirm in desperate desire and he hastily rolled onto his side, coiling and hiding his face into the thick pillow. The cool silk of his pajamas brushed against his skin and he was suddenly dressed and tucked in under the heavy, warm cover.

"I am afraid I have gone too far," Voldemort laughed to himself, biting on his lower lip nervously, as he habitually covered Harry and pushed his long, raven hair behind his ear. "Now I should stop coming here altogether, otherwise it would all end up in chaos, just as you like it..." He smiled ruefully and kissed Harry's hand. "Sweet dreams, my little wizard. I hope I will see you in mine too... When have I ever had not, though?" 

He hastily stood up and left, allowing himself to pant harshly, loudly, when he was safe behind the door of his own bedroom. Whatever had gotten into him? Had he gone stark mad? Harry had just come under his touch in his sleep... Voldemort helplessly dropped himself onto his bed and scowled at the rain that started banging on the glass of the window with a newly found viciousness. What was he going to do now? What if he would hurt Harry, truly hurt him, break him? Harry was the only being in the world he knew he would never be able to recreate, to replace, to lose... If he ruined his boy then he was truly the monster that everybody thought him to be. Wasn't he, though? 

Harry lay with his eyes wide open and his hands clutched tightly on the edge of his cover, meticulously shielding his mind and hiding the memories of what had just happened deeply in his consciousness. He had his answer now: Tom wanted him. And had been probably lusting after him for a very long time. How similar they were, how cowardly and hesitant they both were when it came to taking the most important step. His friend had always been very uncomfortable with expressing his feelings and showing his affection, if only he knew... 

But if a grown wizard like Tom couldn't find a better way to admit his feelings how was he, a mere boy, going to do that? But he had to, didn't he? There was no other option but to confess. He couldn't take it anymore, the desperation and the longing that he experienced every time he looked at Tom, heard his voice... Every lesson was a torture now, every evening spent together reading or talking was a crucible. Knowing the ruby eyed warlock so well and for so long Harry had no idea how to do that, how to tell him all the truth, how to show... That he was appreciated and admired. Wanted. 

xxx

A few days had passed, he had barely seen the boy, who kept flying from dawn until dusk and oddly kept a great distance between them. He hadn't confiscated the damned broom after all, he was too overwhelmed with the night visit and the sensation of Harry's skin under his hands, his sperm on his fingers. Surreal, he kept telling himself, it was a surreal nightmare and nothing had actually happened. 

They usually held a laboratory week at the end of August, when Harry had to brew series of potions all on his own, following the instructions and never asking for help. If he made a mistake he was bound to find it for himself on the weekend, when Voldemort told him the results. It was an old system he used to have at Hogwarts when he was a student and thought it to be rather efficient for the boy. And Harry always did so well. This year wasn't an exception, only for the fact that the boy wasn't bursting into the study after every finished concoction to irritate him with his cheer and unstoppable blabbering, nor was he tormenting him with interrogations on whether he had made a mistake or not. Harry simply left a completed potion and disappeared from the manor, flying above the grounds and hiding somewhere in the garden. Whatever there was on his mind Voldemort didn't want to know, he had enough to think about already.

This was why he jerked so harshly, when Harry did burst into the study abruptly and strode towards him only to hover over him and stare at the book behind which Voldemort was hiding. 

"What is the matter?" he muttered irritably, when he realized that the boy wasn't going to speak first, and lowered his hands and the heavy tome onto his knees.

"I... Need to perform a practical research for an experiment of mine," Harry said, trying to sound confident, unaffected. Staring into the eyes that had seen him naked was rather weird and horribly seductive. 

"Oh, is that what you have been doing all this time?" Voldemort raised his eyebrows in curiosity, "Care to share what is this experiment about?" 

"You," Harry blurted out and grabbed on the wizard's collar before his fear and anxiety got the better of him. Before Tom managed to realize what was going on. 

He attacked his mouth and pressed his lips against the thin, pale ones, having had ceased breathing altogether. It felt... Magical. He was certain he felt a sparkle flicker between them, his knees were ready to give out and he hastily pulled away, staring at Tom wildly. 

“Well, this was very bad, very, very bad," he breathed out, reddening darkly, and darted out of the room.

Voldemort was gobsmacked. And angry. And aroused. But mostly angry. He grasped on the only clearly known emotion to him and stormed after the boy, determined to punish him, no, to crucio him until he bled and begged for forgiveness, for this was inadmissible! He grabbed on Harry's arm and pushed him harshly against the wall, "The fuck was that?!" he roared, panting like a beast and towering over the frightened boy.

He hit himself hard on the wall and his breath was knocked out of him. Harry blindly looked up at the dark shadow with two burning coals of eyes that was his friend now and whispered inaudibly, "A kiss..." And suddenly his lips were taken, Tom bit into them, pushing his tongue hard in between, demanding to be let inside and all Harry could do was to moan pitifully and open his mouth wide. The hands squeezed on his sides and buttocks hurtingly, as all the air was being sucked out of him in a most painful and simultaneously most pleasant way to the sound of a low, impatient growl. He circled his arms around the man's neck, pulling on the hair, the robe, the shirt, whatever he could hold on to, and pushed his tongue into Tom's mouth as well. A hard bulge pressed against his thigh and he was ready to faint so good it felt to come by only being kissed, finally, properly kissed.

Voldemort pulled away just as sharply as he had attacked and stumbled back, staring at Harry in astonishment and terror. "Don't," he hissed, putting as much acid into his tone, as he could feign, "Don't you dare... Stay away from me!" 

He vanished and apparated into the study, shutting the door with a deafening bang and sealing it. The vigour of Harry's answer to the kiss could only mean that he hadn't been asleep that night and knew everything, had heard and comprehended everything that had been done to him... What was he going to do now? He had to obliviate the boy.

Harry stood frozen, astonished, hurt, staring dumbly at the closed door. This was the real kiss, the one he had been dreaming about for so long, but why did it hurt so much now? Why did it have to end up like this? Why was Tom such a mean bastard all the bloody time? Tears poured out of his eyes, as he pressed his hands against his swollen lips and sobbed soundlessly, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself, heartbroken and lonely. He was rejected, wasn't he? 

Harry slid down the wall and hugged his shaking knees, rocking slightly and watching the door all the while. What was he waiting for? That Tom would come out and take him back? He was a naive imbecile if he thought that was possible. Tom could have already left the manor completely and could never show himself anymore. That was very plausible and very painful to accept. Harry's lips trembled, he kept rubbing on his eyes, but the tears just wouldn't stop, it seemed his chest was going to burst and his heart was going to choke him, clogging his throat so tightly. 

Daedalus carefully approached his little master and gently stroked his harshly shaking shoulders, watching him sympathetically. "My poor master Harry," he whispered, "You should have waited longer." At the boy's hurt, pitiful glare he only sighed apologetically and tugged on his shirt, "Return into your room, master, the Dark Lord will not come out, will not come to comfort you." 

He knew, of course he knew that the elf was right, but admitting that to himself seemed so unfair, Harry could only nod his head and hide his face in his hands, let the small creature help him up and steer him into his bedroom. He fell down onto the bed and wept into his pillow through the rest of the evening and the night. Only by morning, when the sun rose, was he able to finally fall into an exhausted slumber, tormented by the nightmares of Tom leaving him forever or, worse, hating him and turning him away, calling him a traitor. 

xxx

"I don't regret what I have done!" he said firmly, putting as much strength and power into his words as he could master, even though his lips trembled harshly and his hands were balled into tight fists, to help him hold on to the remains of his courage, that was hastily wearing very thin under the heavy, cold, unrecognizable glare of the blood red eyes. 

A week had passed, Harry hadn't seen Tom even once during all this time - the man kept avoiding him. He ate in his study, he never came to check Harry's laboratory work, nor had he sent at least a note on whether Harry must start with the new chapter in his transfiguration textbook, or must practice the complex charms instead - nothing, there was no sign of him, no sign that he cared at all. It felt as if he had been truly left alone forever, even though he heard Tom coming and going, moving around in his bedroom, giving Daedalus orders... 

Harry cried through the first two or three days, refusing to eat, however, his rebel was also ignored by his master, it was only the old elf, who kept fretting over him and forcing him to at least have his breakfasts. The rest of the week Harry spent in angry brooding and sulking. He intentionally lowered his mind shields to let Tom know just how much offended and hurt he was, should the man try and read him, however, his friend was closed off, hidden behind the impenetrable wall of his own occluding and isolation. Was he going to spend the rest of their lives like that? By the weekend Harry grew absolutely livid. Who was the actual child here? How mature it was of the bloody Dark Lord Voldemort to hide in his rooms and refuse to see the boy, who had simply kissed him! 

He knew that Tom didn't have any plans on Monday, was going to work as usual - Harry concluded it was now or never that he had dealt with this stupid obstacle once and for all. It was these seven days spent in solitude that made him realize that he had, actually, lived every day of his life with Tom, the wizard had never once left him alone for more than twelve hours. They had always been together, inseparable, two sides of one coin, two halves of one soul, never once parting in the course of long twelve years... The discovery broke Harry's heart, he never knew how much he loved Tom until now. And he loved him, yes, he did. Tom wasn't just a friend and a family anymore, Tom was his obsession. 

He never really understood why exactly had he been so eagerly anticipating their future together, when he grew and became the man's right hand, his closest and most trusted follower, when he was revealed to the world - but it all seemed so obvious now. He wanted it not because of the honour and happiness it was going to bring him, not because it was going to please Tom, but simply because he was going to be with the man that he loved, free to show his love fearlessly, not caring for anything else in the world. Harry didn't need that bloody world when he had his Tom, who was so much better... And now he stood here, at the threshold of the study, having had blasted the door off its hinges, panting and holding the other's enraged glare unwaveringly. 

"How dare you break into my study?" Voldemort hissed venomously, although inwardly he was astonished by the boldness, fearlessness of the boy's actions. "Get out, or I will make you!" He raised his wand, but Harry only stepped closer. "I am not repeating myself. Cru-" but his hand and wand were suddenly covered by the other's sweaty, trembling palm and pushed aside.

"No! Stop being mean and childish!" Harry tore the wand out of Tom's fingers and threw it aside, "Stop it, please! I need you!" He threw himself at the man's neck and clashed their lips together, pressing into the tall body as hard as he could, determined to stay like this forever, if it was necessary, to make Tom see reason. 

This had been the worst week in his life. Seven days spent without the boy he had been seeing for twelve years straight, without missing an opportunity, felt as if his magic had been taken from him, as if the air in the house was poisoned. He waited by the window, but Harry never went flying, he waited by the door, but Harry never came to apologize and beg for forgiveness, he waited through the nights, but the boy kept crying and suffering through nightmares he was too ashamed to share. He knew what was in them, he hated the fact that he was the sole cause of them. Of course he was angry, no, he was absolutely livid, for Harry had used his own weakness against him, had tricked him, played on his feelings that were his burden and curse he wished to get rid of so much. But he couldn't. 

Every time he showed the child a tiniest bit of affection he was showered with it in return, cherished and adored, and he was addicted to it worse than he was addicted to Cruciatus. The thought of leaving Harry hadn't even visited him, no, of course he was never going to abandon him, but the boy needed to be punished, needed to learn to keep his distance and to respect his master's personal space. They were not supposed to be lovers, he was only a teenager and his horcrux, he was... Kissing him again.

Voldemort moaned into the sweet, hot mouth, pushing his tongue further inside it, caressing everything he could reach, while his hands squeezed the body that lost so much weight, felt like a bag of bones now. How could he had let this happen? How could he be so weak, how could he give in to temptation so easily? But Harry said he needed him... "Harry," he breathed out, struggling to push the boy away, "Harry, we can't, I forbid you..." But Harry only shook his head stubbornly and pressed even harder into him, burying his face into his tangled hair.

"Shut up. I don't want to hear about it, you can't forbid me to want you," he whispered shakily, barely comprehending what was he saying, for the kiss was just as mindblowing as the first one, and even better, gentler, more sensitive. Harry felt absolutely ecstatic, he felt he couldn't breathe simply because the air became too thick, all the oxygen was now in Tom's mouth. How wet it was inside, how hot, how nice and pleasant, the mere thought about it made Harry squirm and crave for more. "I am not going away, I want you, I want you, I want you," he chanted as he covered the pale, beautiful face with featherlight kisses, smiling at the soft, quiet sighs that escaped the thin lips. 

"Harry," Voldemort closed his eyes, incapable of fighting the boy anymore, leaning into the wonderful, most delightful caress he had ever experienced in his life, turning to be kissed more and more, "Please... Harry, please, don't. I will hurt you," he finally managed to rasp before the red lips covered his again and he surrendered into another passionate devouring of each other's flesh, tongues, saliva. Harry was everywhere, around him, inside of him, in his head, there was no place he could hide from him, and he truly didn't want to. He wanted to have it all.

"You won't, I know you won't," he smiled, pulling away and panting harshly, staring wildly into the ruby eyes, that were slightly glazed and gleamed so temptingly, so teasingly, he could have sworn he saw a promise in them. "Ah!" he gasped, bouncing on his toes in excitement at the sudden realization, "You have just begged me!" Harry laughed heartedly and pressed his cheek against Tom's, smiling and chuckling happily. "But I am going to be a mean dark wizard and will not indulge your pleading. I am not going anywhere."

Voldemort heaved a long, shuddering sigh and smiled into the mop of long, wavy, raven locks, feeling the weight gradually leaving his soul. Relief and blissful contentment washed over him, and his chest grew unbearably hot inside as did his abdomen. "Oh, Harry," he breathed out, finally allowing his hands to slide and stroke the desired body, feel for its every bone, "I always knew you were going to be the death of me, the prophecy didn't lie. Look at what have you done to me..." 

"Tom," Harry pulled away a little to look into the other's face and eyes very seriously, "You taught me that I must use whatever means are available to me to protect what is mine. You are mine," he murmured somewhat shyly, biting on his lower lip in slight embarrassment, but stubbornly continued, "You belong to me as much as I belong to you. I will never lose you or let you escape me."

Smiling despite himself, laughing softly Voldemort raised his hand and cupped the boy's face, stroking it lovingly, looking at it in amusement and delight. "You learn so well, Harry, you make me very proud. It is, of course, very bold of you to inform me that I am in your possession, however... I can hardly argue with that." The emerald eyes smiled, shining so much brighter, happier and he found himself lost in their light once again, mesmerized by their magic, that sparkled in the depths of the orbs, sending goosebumps all over his skin. Harry knew exactly how he was affecting him and shamelessly used it to his own advantage. But wasn't that what he had taught him? "You do realize you will be punished? Severely."

"Do I look like I care?" Harry shrugged his shoulders carelessly, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Crucio me if you want to, but kiss me afterwards and I would never mind the pain," he grinned mischievously and brought his face very close to Tom's, whispering heatedly against his lips, "I know you like me undressed. I agree to be tortured naked if it helps you." 

Instead of answering to the filthiest innuendo he had ever imagined could leave Harry's chaste, red mouth, Voldemort kissed him deeply, ravenously sucking on his tongue and lips, allowing himself to growl and groan possessively, already coming undone at the sensation of Harry's erection pressed against his own. He pushed forward and dropped the boy onto the desk, pressing hard between his spread thighs, "I am impatient and very cruel, Harry, you know that, don't you?" he panted, bent over the young wizard, who lay underneath him with an expression of utter bliss and excitement on his beautiful face.

"I know," Harry laughed, pushing his fingers into other's thick hair and tugging on it to make him bent closer, "I wish you didn't hesitate to show it!" He bucked his hips up and moaned, pretending, sucking on his lower lip and batting his eyelashes.

Voldemort could only stare in wonder at the uncovered lust and want that he read in the other's gaze. When had Harry turned into a sexual beast? How had he missed it? Or had he deliberately ignored it? He didn't care now. He simply assaulted the red, swollen lips again and held onto the hips, digging his nails deep into the flesh through the fabrics of the trousers. Rubbing his stone hard bulge against Harry's he groaned and whined into his mouth, moving sharply, hastily, hurrying to sate his maddening desire, melting at the sounds of the boy's weak moans and cries, the taste of his salty tears mixed with their salivas on their tongues. Magic spread all over him, running through his veins instead of blood, it seemed, it drugged him and for the first time in his life Voldemort came because of the pleasure he felt by pleasing another, not because of the pain and havoc he caused. Squeezing his eyes shut and hissing like a rattling snake he pressed into Harry for the last time, straining his muscles and hiding his face in the boy's hair, and cried loudly, as he finally ejaculated. 

Harry didn't notice when had he come, for he couldn't stop listening to Tom and couldn't help but feel smug and proud of himself. The shields had fallen in their minds and he knew exactly how amazing his friend felt this very moment, how much he loved every second of it, even though they were dressed and simply kissed, rubbing against each other. The blood red eyes finally met his and he grinned at the expression of confusion and delight, amusement in them. 

"Do you like me, Tom?" he purred playfully, stroking the man’s hair and face, still moving his own hips slightly and enjoying how wet he felt in his trousers.

"I fucking adore you, Harry, stop asking what you already know," Voldemort muttered, watching him closely, astonished by everything he could see in his mind: all the wild fantasies and desires the boy had about him, all the wet dreams and long, heated nights of masturbating to the memories of his touches and smiles... Harry had been wanting him, waiting for him for so long, it seemed impossible, and yet here he was, lying underneath his body, wet and happy, sated, pleased beyond imagination. "Have you truly wished to be kissed on your last birthday?" he drawled sarcastically, wrinkling his nose.

"But of course!" Harry burst into a warm, ringing laughter, "My magical wishes always come true! I got everything I have ever asked for." He wriggled his eyebrows pointedly at Tom and sighed happily, unable to stop smiling broadly, like an idiot. "Pity I have to wait another year to ask for another wish, but unlike you I am very patient."

"Yes, I have noticed," Voldemort smiled back, thinking it fruitless to fight the desire to be sincere. Harry knew him too well, even if he tried to hide his delight and happiness, the boy would still know about it, so there was no point in confining himself. It was very unusual to smile so much, so freely, but the more he did, the more he sensed Harry grow excited and pleased with it. He never thought something so simple and useless could bring so much joy to another. "Let us address the matter of your punishment before I forget about it again," he murmured, reluctantly pulling away and straightening his already aching back. But the pain was so pleasant...

"Fine," huffing good-naturedly Harry sat up and grabbed Tom by the hand to pull him closer and lean against him, "But tell me first if I have made any mistakes in my potions?" 

"You annoy me so much," Voldemort laughed soundlessly, still finding it hard to believe that he could touch Harry as much as he wanted to, that it was so easy to touch him and so wonderful. "I will tell you after I inspected them. Now, you are grounded for two weeks, no flying, no going out, no procrastinating, you will be writing essays that you hate so much from dawn to the very dusk and will cover three chapters of arithmacy on complex integral equations for the healing spells." At Harry's affronted expression and particularly adorable pout he raised his index finger, "Ah-ah-ah, Harry, every action has its consequences. You've caused enough chaos to be crucioed, but I have grown too soft on you, I can't torture you, not yet. But if you would complaint or disobey me again I will overlook my own kindness. And fix the door on your way out," he added snidely, though he couldn't put enough malice behind his words, just like always. 

Harry hung his head for pretense's sake and grudgingly stood up on the floor, pointedly ignoring other's intent watching. "Fine," he sighed and shuffled his feet towards the exit, "But I will have to take shower first, I feel so dirty," he chuckled teasingly and ran away into his own room, blushing fiercely at his own boldness. He never thought he was so lascivious, so naughty, but Tom made him feel so wild, so hot, it was irresistible. 

Staring after him Voldemort leaned against his desk in helplessness and mild shock. His boy was debauched and he couldn't for the life of him fathom how had he turned out like that, he would have remembered if he taught him anything about sex and... Everything else. It seemed Harry was well versed in the subject for his age, managed well without his help. Although there was little he could offer in the matter of sexual education, since he himself was hardly an expert. Disgusted by people in general he ceased having sex by the age of thirty, preferring to indulge himself through torture and magical experiments, rather than let anybody close. But now... 

Now he felt the desire awoken in him and burning him from the inside, he felt... Constantly aroused, permanently hungry for more, for Harry, who was growing more and more alluring, lecherous with every day. There was somebody who wanted him, Tom bloody Riddle, somebody who wished to kiss him and enjoyed his touch more, than anything. Could he really take this opportunity and be... a man again? He wanted Harry, undoubtedly, he wanted him to the point he felt he was going insane because of him. But he couldn't really force him into anything physical, it was simply disgraceful. His gaze fell on the door, that lay on the floor, cracked and broken, and he snorted at the thought that Harry could do something so irrational and impulsive to simply kiss him. How pathetically romantic it seemed. 

xxx

In the evening, after the supper finally spent together to Daedalus' enormous delight they soon joined each other in the study, reading just as they always did. Voldemort sat slumped against the puffy pillows, with his long legs stretched out in front of the fire, and a latest issue of a newspaper in his hands, while Harry habitually sat down on the rug and pressed his head against the wizard's knees, sighing happily, for he dearly missed the other's company. 

"May I sit next to you?" He heard the boy ask and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"If you must," Voldemort said carelessly and concentrated on the article again, trying very hard to ignore the unexpected anxiety that nestled somewhere at the bottom of his stomach. Harry hastily climbed up the sofa and, after what seemed a short consideration, simply dropped himself down and rested his head in his lap, grinning idiotically into his book. Voldemort froze, staring down at the head that lay right next to his already very interested cock hidden underneath the layers of clothes, and swallowed harshly in nervousness. It all was happening too fast.

"This is so much better," Harry purred, turning the page and relaxing completely. Being so close to Tom felt amazing, he should have done that ages ago, he was certain the man would have allowed that. 

After fifteen minutes spent in companionable silence Voldemort finally surrendered and growled lowly, "Will you stop burning a hole in my face? Have you taken this position to simply gape at me or to read?" 

"Sorry, I got enthralled," Harry chuckled and pointedly turned his head to look into the text that he already didn't remember. 

"Enthralled?" he spat skeptically. "With what?" 

"You," the boy said simply, suddenly blushing, "You are very beautiful." 

Now it was his turn to blush and he hastily hid behind his paper. He had never blushed at other's praise, and many people tried to buy him with petty compliments in his youth. And yet he was embarrassed and flattered with the boy's childish observation! "Flattery wouldn't get you anywhere," he muttered, feigning disinterest. 

Smiling cunningly Harry shifted his head closer to Tom's pelvis and pressed his face against his waist. "But you truly are beautiful, Tom. I wouldn't lie about that, you know me," he murmured kindly, watching the ruby eyes that narrowed ever so slightly, trained on the text, but suspiciously still for somebody who was reading. "Especially when you smile," he sighed dreamily and buried his nose into the layers of clothes, aroused by the notion that there was only a thin fabric that separated him from Tom's skin, his belly, his penis that was obviously hardened underneath Harry's head. Grinning he rubbed against it slightly and found a gap between the buttons of the shirt to push his nose though and press its tip against the slightly hairy abdomen.

"Harry," he hissed, dropping his newspaper onto the floor and placing his hands onto the boy's head, but instead of pushing him away he grabbed on the raven hair and forced him to turn and look up at him. "What are you doing?" 

"You know it seems rather unfair to me," Harry told him, lowering his eyelashes and pouting his lips.

"What does?" Voldemort scowled, confused. The weight of the boy's head against his growing erection drove him insane.

"That you have seen me naked and even touched me, Salazar knows how many times, and I have never seen you even without a shirt on," he mumbled, turning despite the painfully held hair, and pressed his face against the bulge, shivering in anticipation. "I liked that, what you did that night," he muttered against it, and pressed harder, closer, drawing a quiet gasp out of Tom's throat.

"Don't, Harry," he whispered, but it was too late, his fingers let go of the hair and were now caressing the long neck, as his other hand clutched onto the arm of the sofa, scratching the silk cover. Harry's teeth bit into the buttons and tore them off. The boy hastily pulled the clothes aside and unfastened the trousers completely, exhaling sharply at the sight of his cock standing hard. "Please," he shuddered, either in rejection or welcoming, he didn't know, he never dared to picture Harry's lips anywhere close to his body, let alone his genitals, and dumbly watched him now, licking on his suddenly dry mouth.

Harry reached out and took Tom's penis into his hand, trembling in overwhelming desire. It felt so warm, so hard, so nice against his skin, he couldn't help but smile at it and confidently leaned closer to kiss the reddened head. The moan that instantly broke out encouraged him and Harry kissed it again, and again, stroking its length and pulling on the foreskin slightly, smiling and feeling hotter and harder himself with every sound that Tom rewarded him with. The hand on his neck grabbed on his hair again, but not to drive him away, on the contrary, to push him closer. "I want it so much," Harry whispered and opened his mouth to take the cock inside, moaning pitifully. He felt so dirty and so bloody great at the same time, he thought he might throw up from the sheer excitement that was tying his insides into a knot. 

He had forgotten what it was like, he had forgotten how good it felt to be sucked off. He couldn't hold back all the lustful groans and gasps that struggled to escape his lips. The notion that it was Harry's hot, wet mouth, that it was his tongue licking on his cock took away all of his self-control. Voldemort watched the red lips rub against his skin, moist and swollen they hungrily took more and more of his flesh inside, and he fisted his hand into the raven locks, barely breathing in the slowly coming orgasm. "Harry," he called and met the lustful, unfocused gaze of the emerald eyes that were smiling at him.

Harry pulled the thick cock out of his mouth and whispered hoarsely, "Do you like that?" At Tom's slow, tentative nod he grinned in delight and tilted his head to the side, watching the ruby eyes all the while. There were so many emotions in them, it seemed the colour of the orbs kept constantly changing and transforming, gleaming magically. Tom felt very good. And tasted so good too. "I love it," Harry breathed out lowly and licked on the slit, teasing it, stroking the cock up and down its length with his hand. Tom pushed his head down forcibly when he once again took the cock into his mouth and he coughed harshly, choking on the flesh, that clogged his throat and on the bitter, hot sperm that burst out of the pulsing head. 

"Fuck!" Voldemort cried, holding Harry down and bucking his hips up, feeling his head spin at a maddening pace, as his penis ejaculated, jerking again and again, pouring the semen out vigorously. The boy pulled away sharply, wheezing and sputtering saliva all around, red and teary from the pain, but he couldn't care less, he grabbed on him, squeezed him in between his arms and bit into his swollen mouth, growling lowly into it and sucking on the sweet saliva and his own bitter sperm, driven by the desire to devour it all and Harry as well.

"Let me breathe, let me breathe!" Harry whined, blindly turning away from the other's teeth and lips, panting heavily, only to inhale as deeply as he could and let himself be sucked out dry again. Tom held him so tightly, so passionately, he couldn't stop crying and wishing, desperately wishing over and over again for this moment to never end. "Tom, Tom, oh, Tom," he chanted the name, "Please..." 

A cold hand crept underneath his trousers and gripped his painfully hard cock in a vice, tugging on it harshly, and Harry screamed into the man's mouth, jerking sharply in a hard, so long desired release. He slumped down against Tom's body weakly, breathing heavily and clutching onto the other's clothes, shuddering in pleasure, while his balls were massaged in between the long, gentle fingers. 

"Harry, you are too young," Voldemort whispered against the scarred forehead, that was pressed against his lips, pulling the boy harder against himself and stroking and stroking the balls and the cock that was so perfectly formed, covering it in semen that had just poured out of its slit. "We can't do this so carelessly," he reluctantly admitted.

"Why not?" Harry mumbled tiredly, sleepily, "I could blow you forever if it was physically possible. I love your cock."

Blushing fiercely, grateful Harry couldn't see it, Voldemort swallowed hard, "You do realize what would follow, I... I must control myself, to not force you into anything... Hurtful. In order to do that I must confine myself and cease any kind of..."

Clicking his tongue in exasperation Harry opened his eyes sharply and raised his head up to look at Tom seriously, pointedly, "I want you to fuck me. I am ready, I can't wait to feel you inside of me. If you are afraid of hurting me then simply don't - take me and make me feel good again, like you always do." He smiled warmly at the astonished wizard and kissed him on his chin and on the lower lip. "It is not the physical pain I fear, Tom, it is your rejection," he confessed, lowering his head onto the man's shoulder.

Harry wanted him to fuck him, Harry wanted him to fuck him... This was insane, he never expected it to happen and yet the idea appealed to him on so many levels... On all the levels. He wanted it, he wanted to mark the boy, to fill him up and drain him completely. He deserved it, Harry's virginity, just as Harry's arse and sperm and life that belonged to him, everything that was in his arms now was his and he was free to do whatever he pleased to it. Harry wanted it. Harry wanted him. 

"What if you would regret it?" he suddenly asked. Unlike him his lovely boy was capable of such an emotion, as well as guilt.

"I know I would never regret anything as long as it is you who has done it to me," Harry murmured against Tom's neck. It was the truth. What else was there to regret, when he had been a horcrux for his whole life, a dark wizard, a future Lord Voldemort and now the Dark Lord's lover? Harry regretted neither of these things, he loved them, they made him what he was, they were a part of him and his life with Tom. A lover, he was his lover now, he happily thought, sighing contentedly and moaning softly at the sensation of his genitals being caressed again. 

Happy. He was truly happy now, hearing these words coming out of the mouth that brought him such pleasure. Voldemort smiled blissfully. He had made a right choice after all. Harry was his blessing, a precious gift the magic graced him with. He never thought it was possible to make another person loyal and respectful without scaring them to death, without threatening them with pain and grief, he never imagined somebody could look at him so fearlessly, could like him so sincerely, could make him feel so good so easily... Harry was so different, so fascinating, he was faithful and true to his master out of his own will, he was the first and only friend Voldemort had ever had and their friendship was not beneficial, no, it was rewarding, it was magical, as was their relationship into which it had just, obviously, transformed. Harry desired him as a man, not a leader of the Dark. Did he love him? 

He held his breath at the unexpected thought. Harry was, of course, capable of love, of which he, Voldemort, knew absolutely nothing. Could the boy feel something as deep and mysterious towards him? "Harry?" he asked hesitantly, but there was no answer. Harry was asleep, actually asleep this time, lulled by his breathing and his hand, stroking him. "I think it is time to go to bed, my child," he sighed, partly relieved that he wouldn't know the truth, partly disappointed. 

He carefully rose up, carrying the boy in his arms, and slowly walked out of the study and towards Harry's room, but halted by his own door and glanced at the beautiful face pressed against his shoulder uncertainly. Now that they had gone so far in just a day he could have very well claimed Harry as his lover and kept him in his bed, couldn't he? He entered his bedroom and put the boy down onto the mattress, looking around in bewilderment. It was so odd to share a room with another, so odd to know that in the morning he would wake up to see Harry in his arms. Undressing slowly he recalled the stormy night, when a four year old boy came to him on his own and slept pressed against his back, a warm ball of flesh that he was. Laughing at the memory Voldemort sat down next to Harry and undressed him, not afraid to touch him more confidently now, and crawled to lie next to him underneath the thick cover. The boy stirred and instantly moved closer to press against his side, threw his arm over his chest and yawned into his ear only to start snoring peacefully again. 

The heat that radiated from his body felt akin to fire from the hearth and Voldemort let out a soft groan of pleasure and blissful exhaustion, wondering why did it all feel so special with Harry? He had never found any joy in staying with somebody after sex, nor had he ever shared a bed willingly out of a desire to simply be close to another. But Harry was the one whom he wanted to hold as much as he could. Voldemort closed his eyes, relaxing his body and mind, and instantly fell asleep, warm and unusually happy, content. 

xxx

Harry groaned and slowly came back to his senses, frowning at the unpleasant numbness in his shoulder, that he had been lying on for too long. But something prevented him from rolling onto his back and he fluttered his eyes wide open only to see Tom's face very close before him. The wizard was asleep and it was his arms, that held Harry tightly, like chains. Smiling he carefully inspected the face of a man he was finally able to have, was finally able to sleep with. Tom was truly beautiful, he hadn't aged even a day since Harry remembered him, looked the same young, stunning self, with his tangled brown hair sprawled all over the pillow, his expression peaceful and somewhat pleased, his thin, pale lips stretched in a small, almost imperceptible smile. 

Ever since Harry found out that his friend was immortal he kept wondering if he would ever grow old visibly, and if he, Harry, would stop aging at some point as well? Somehow the thought that he would end up an old, wrinkled man by the side of the eternally young master galled and frightened him. Though, when he pondered over it rationally and calmly he concluded that, perhaps, Tom was simply waiting for him to complete his physical development before turning him immortal as well? Otherwise what was the point of having a horcrux that could die before its owner? 

Sighing Harry shifted closer and pressed his head against the wizard's broad chest, listening in to his heartbeat, low and steady, soothing. The sleep had left him and having nothing better to do Harry began his slow and thorough inspection of the body he wished to see naked for so long and finally had his lucky opportunity. His fingers traced the veins and sparse, short hairs lightly, sliding down to the nipples and Harry bit into his lower lip harshly, suppressing the desire to taste them - he had read so much about all this and was eager to try everything, especially with such a man at his mercy. Grinning evilly he pulled down the covers to take a better look and Tom finally let go of him, grumping in his sleep and rolling onto his back. 

No, he had to try it, he absolutely had to, Harry decided and took one of the dark, small nipples between his lips, licking on it tentatively. How could something so simple feel so tempting? Sucking and biting on it lightly he moved his hand down the man's side and onto the base of his penis, barely holding back his lustful moans.

"Insatiable monster you are," Voldemort sighed, catching the naughty hand into his own and pulling it up to put the smaller fingers into his mouth. 

"Ah, this feels so good," Harry whined, watching him adoringly and trembling at the sensation of a tongue caressing his fingers. "So good..."

"Does it?" he arched one of his eyebrows, opening his eyes and looking at the boy cunningly. He never imagined waking up next to somebody would be so pleasant, never expected to be awaken by being kissed on such a sensitive spot... "Harry, do you know what would also feel very good?" he drawled, moving sharply forward and pushing the boy onto his back.

"What?" Harry breathed out shakily, staring into the blood red eyes in excitement and anticipation, trembling under the other's body that was hovering over him. He had never been so nervous and turned on in his life before, seeing Tom in all his might in the bright morning light.

Instead of answering Voldemort kissed him and forced himself in between the boy's thighs, groaning at the sensation of their naked genitals rubbing against each other. "I never leave any business unfinished," he panted into Harry's mouth and hurriedly sucked on his tender throat, drawing the most lecherous moans out of it. In just a matter of seconds he left a wet trace of light bruises and teeth marks all over the thin, lean body and finally reached the small cock, that was waiting impatiently for his caress. To Harry's wonderful cries of pleasure he sucked it deep inside his mouth, holding the boy's hips tightly up and spread apart. The taste of the soft skin and sweet precum drove him insane and he couldn't stop devouring the flesh and growling like an animal. 

"Oh, fuck, Tom, ah! Yes!" Harry wriggled vehemently, arching his back and tossing his head form side to side, crying. It felt so hot, so wet around his penis, the pressure and friction were making his head spin, felt absolutely perfect. Tom was so dominating and so harsh and simultaneously gentle it seemed to be a dream, this couldn't be possibly happening to him.

With one last lustful whine Harry came straight into his mouth, jerking violently in his hold, and Voldemort squeezed the pulsing cock to suck it dry, to not miss a drop of the hot sperm. "You taste wonderfully, my dear," he whispered against the reddened head, biting it teasingly, making the boy hiss and struggle in pleasure. Smiling he looked up at the thin chest, that rose and fell quickly and unsteadily, at the flushed face, hidden in trembling hands, at the pearly teeth that bit into the lower lip so hard it started bleeding. "I am not finished yet," he warned and pulled the gradually softening penis up to suck on the small, delicate balls.

"You are killing me!" Harry mumbled feverishly, sweating and panting, as he propped himself up on his elbows and gaped at the sight. Tom hungrily sucking on his balls, taking them fully into his mouth and pulling on them, stretching the sack of skin and growling like a beast. The sight itself was turning him hard again and he moaned pitifully, "Oh, Tom, please!" 

Voldemort ignored him and grabbed on the boy's thighs again, spreading them up and pressing them against Harry's abdomen. "I intend to take it all, Harry, I warned you." But the boy only nodded vehemently and jerked impatiently, hurrying him to indulge himself. Flashing him a feral smile, almost coming from the sheer excitement and lasciviousness that he felt, Voldemort bit into the tender skin of a buttock, moving closer and closer to the anus, sucking and scratching on the skin with his teeth.

"Fuck, yes, yes!" Harry didn't know what was going to happen but he was beyond rational now, all he wanted was for Tom to use him whatever way he wished, all he wanted was to get rid of the horrible tension in his cock, that was ready to ejaculate again. "Please, please, oh... Oh, god!" Moist lips sucked on his anus and a hot tongue teased it, pushing slightly inside. He never thought that was possible, never thought that felt so dirty and so bloody amazing. 

Even his arse tasted just as sweet as his sperm. His boy was indeed made of the most magical, illegal ingredients. Voldemort stuck out his tongue and licked right on the tiny entrance and up on the sack of balls and up the hard, thickened length of penis, until its very slit. And again, and again, he repeated all the way up and down, salivating it generously and smiling at the wails that burst out of the boy's chest and at his harsh convulsing in overpowering orgasm. Harry's sperm fell onto his lovely, red, sweated face and the boy gasped in delight, watching his master with wide, unfocused eyes, startled by the unexpected outcome. The sight was absolutely delicious, Voldemort couldn't resist his own need any longer and rose up to come onto the boy's face as well. 

Harry could only keep his mouth open wide and try to catch the hot liquid, that shot straight into his face, covering his eyes and nose and sleeking down, leaving a slightly sticky trace behind. "Fuck... I'm finished, Tom, I'm..." he panted, hastily swallowing what had fallen into his mouth and moaning indecently when the man bent down to lick his face clean. 

"Already?" Voldemort laughed, collecting the last drops of their semen mixed together. It seemed insane, it wasn't him, he had never done something so wild before, but it felt so right, it felt absolutely incomparable to anything he had ever had in his short and uneventful sex life. Harry, it was all Harry's fault, the boy debauched him horribly. He fell down next to him and stretched his stiffened muscles, groaning softly in delightful exhaustion. 

"This was amazing," Harry whispered dreamily, slowly lowering his already numb legs and hesitantly touching his wet face, hardly believing that it had just been thoroughly cleaned by the tongue that had licked on his anus... "You are amazing... bloody demon of sex!" he laughed, turning to look at Tom and tentatively placing his palm over the man's heart. He wasn't pushed away and, encouraged, Harry stroked the chest lovingly, carefully. "Where have you learned all this... You must have had many men before, haven't you?"

Had he imagined it or was there jealousy in the boy's tone? Smirking smugly to himself Voldemort hummed, closing his eyes and enjoying the gentle caress, "No. In fact, you are the second man I had ever had anything intimate with. And no, I have never done any of it before." 

"You can't be serious!" Harry sat up sharply and hovered over Tom's form, peering into his calm, slightly flushed face. "Are you seriously telling me you have been sleeping with women only?" 

"I am telling you that I have had only one male partner before you, it happened thirty... forty years ago? I can't even remember his face. He sucked my cock and that was it." Was he really explaining himself now? To a lustful, hormonal teenager of all people? 

"So I am technically going to be your first then?" Harry asked in astonishment, feeling his face stretch in an impossibly idiotic grin of surprise and delight.

"You are always the first, Harry, you were cursed to be the first when you were born," Voldemort drawled tiredly and gently pushed the boy away. "I need a shower, as do you. And don't forget that you have a lot of work to complete today. Whatever happened here - it doesn't cancel your punishment." 

"I know," Harry sighed, feigning sadness and sulking, but the thought that he was indeed Tom's first man kept turning in his head and made him squirm in happiness and pleasure, smugness. He was special, Tom's special horcrux, special wizard, first, very special lover... He fell onto his stomach and dangled his legs happily, watching the tall, naked wizard stand up and take a few slow steps towards the bathroom, stretching on his way and flexing his muscles. He was so lean, so strong, so delicious, Harry could hardly believe it all was his to touch and love now. 

"Don't even think of staying here," Voldemort threw over his shoulder, when he reached the doorway, "You must be already washed and working at your desk by the time I leave my bathroom." He saw out of the corner of his eye what a seductive pose Harry had taken and was now pouting at him, spreading his legs apart teasingly - it took all of his self-control to squeeze his eyes shut and blindly hide behind the door. 

Half an hour later Harry found himself behind his desk with a quill between his fingers and a clean parchment in front of him. He couldn't write, he couldn't concentrate on any thought but the visions of Tom sucking him off and licking on his arse, coming onto his face... Blushing fiercely Harry dropped his head onto the papers and groaned loudly, knowing all too well that he was hard and ready again. How long would it take him to get used to these wonderful sensations, how long would it take him to learn to control his hunger and lead a normal life, survive through the day? Horny - that was how people like him were called in that sex literature he had read. He was a horny teenager, blinded by the desire to be fucked by his master and friend. 

"I need to write this bloody essay, I don't need you in my mind!" he whined, hitting himself hard on the head and hastily trying to occlude the lecherous memories somewhere far, far away in his consciousness, but it was fruitless. "I can't obliviate myself, for Salazar's sake!" he stomped his foot and sat up sharply, pondering over the possible alternatives he could use to clear his mind. Flying usually helped, but he was grounded and his broom had been already taken out of his room and hidden only Merlin knew where. Potions. No, Tom would kill him if he took a potion without his approval. Dueling. Yes, he could very well get rid of his frustration in the training room by blasting the dummies and furniture into dust.

His hand froze in the air above the parchment and an ugly splatter of ink appeared on its surface. Voldemort clicked his tongue and sighed in annoyance. It was the third page he had spoiled, letting his mind wander to the prohibited subject of the last twelve hours spent in Harry's arms. What had happened to him? He used to be a cold hearted bastard, old, wise and uncaring man, there used to be no necessity for wild sex and endless caress in his life before. He felt insatiable, the more he had of Harry, the more he felt out of his share, the further he wanted to go. At such pace he would rape the boy this very evening, he concluded gravely, putting his quill away and turning to look at the unexpectedly clean and bright sky on the other side of the window. Of course Harry said he wanted it, was ready for it, and in all honesty... By their mutual consent it couldn't be seen as anything wrong, inappropriate. He had never given a shit for others' opinion, he always did everything as he pleased... No, this wasn't the reason he felt nervous, he felt insecure because Harry was going to be truly his first male partner in bed. 

He had had what... three, four women before? And one wizard from the Knockturn Alley whom he had paid for a blowjob only to see if his body worked properly after yet another potions experiment of his... He wasn't a skilled lover, he hardly fucked those women, if he was honest with himself. And now that he actually desired Harry and wanted to give him as much pleasure as he could, he was frightened he would hurt him. Would do something wrong. He was sixty five for Salazar's sake, he was the Dark Lord! How could he do anything wrong? And yet he kept doubting himself. 

xxx

Voldemort raised his eyebrows inquiringly at the sight of sweated, panting Harry, who weakly shuffled his feet into the dining room and all but dropped himself on his chair at the opposite end of the table. "I never thought writing essays was that hard for you?"

"I haven't finished them, I had to... Well, work it out," Harry mumbled, digging into his plate and keeping his eyes trained on his food. He knew that should he at least glance at Tom he would be turned on again.

At least he wasn't suffering alone, he snidely thought and nodded his head in understanding, "I see. Well, it would simply add another day to your punishment," he shrugged carelessly. 

"Fine," Harry bit out through the mouthful of salad. "Would you be able to check my potions soon? I fear I might have made a mistake after all." It was very hard to keep up their usual, civil conversation without listening in to the voice that could whisper most seductive words into his ears heatedly, that could make him come in just a few low, deep moans. 

"In fact, I have already checked them," Voldemort drawled, boring a hole in the boy's head. "I can't talk to your hair, Harry, I would appreciate to see your eyes."

"I can't."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't look at you," Harry explained, reddening in embarrassment, "If I look at you I would instantly get hard and horny," he blurted out incomprehensibly, hastily stuffing the food into his mouth. 

"Oh," he smirked, grinning wildly, "I see." Crossing his legs and wincing at his own hard erection being squeezed tightly, Voldemort continued seemingly impassively, "You did very well on your potions assignment, my boy. No mistakes made, no reclamations that I could add. You are indeed talented, and I am very pleased to see your fast progress and laudable achievements. You have already surpassed Hogwarts' potions course for the eldest years, I think we would begin a new, apprenticeship level course after your punishment is over." 

Harry turned scarlet in colour at such a praise and could only sigh in delight, "Thank you, Tom! I do enjoy potions greatly, just like everything else you teach me. Well, except for the essays part, of course," he laughed mirthfully, lifting his shoulders up shyly and tucking his long, disheveled hair behind his ears.

Now that the boy didn't look at him he could let himself smile just as brightly as he felt he wanted to. Harry brought him so much pride and satisfaction, it was hard to believe that only ten years ago a little child sat beside him in the laboratory and turned his nose at the sight of the flabberworms and tried to memorize the names of the herbs. His little wizard had grown to become a very fine young man, intelligent and noble, kind and well mannered, beautiful and alluring. His graceful, modest gestures and soft, delicate features were another reason to be proud and jealous, greedy. No, only he could have Harry, nobody else. He had to make the boy lose his sanity in his arms, in his bed, to never even think of looking for somebody else. No, he wouldn't let him. Harry belonged to him and only he, the Dark Lord and his master, could have this body and this soul at his mercy. 

It was well past midnight when he realized he was indeed tired and took off his robe to fold it neatly over the back of the chair in his bedroom. Harry had spent the whole evening isolated in his room, no doubt struggling with his essays, if the rare loud outbursts of curses were anything to judge by, and they hadn't had the chance to read together. He didn't mind, it was a part of the maturing process and the loss was mostly Harry's, not his. He had contemplated to take a potion for the night, to sleep peacefully, without dreams and blasted erotic fantasies, and the vial still stood on the side of the bed, unsealed. He couldn't decide yet, the temptation was too strong.

The door softly clicked and Voldemort turned around to throw a questioning look at Harry, who stood, pressed against the wooden surface and watched him oddly, barely visible in the darkness. "What is it, Harry?" 

"I want to sleep with you," Harry said quietly, clutching onto the hem of his shirt, "I don't want to take a sedative potion, I would rather sleep in your arms." 

"And what made you think I would let you in my bed again?" he scoffed, though the suggestion was indeed very intriguing and he sincerely doubted he would be able to resist it in the end.

Blushing slightly and clearing his throat, twisting his fingers behind his back anxiously, Harry whispered, "I could convince you?" 

"Oh? Sounds very interesting. Do tell," genuinely curious Voldemort chuckled, sitting down on the chair and crossing his arms over his chest expectantly. One of the many advantages of Harry's personality was his unpredictability, the boy was very inventive and stubborn when he wanted to achieve something. 

"No speaking, only watching." He came closer and stopped a few steps away from Tom, trembling all over in shame and nervousness, but knew that he had to really surprise the man to make him indulge his wishes. Harry raised his shaking hands and intentionally slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, staring unwaveringly into the blood red eyes that were following his every movement.

Little minx, he thought, digging his nails deeply into the skin of his arms, as he sat and watched the small, delicate figure slowly reveal its beauty to the light of the moon. The shirt slid off of the thin but broad shoulders and he held his breath, when long, elegant fingers reached down to the waistband of the ill-fitting trousers and simply tore the front open, as if it had never been fastened in the first place. The black fabric fell down to the floor as well and he hungrily looked over the curves and bones showing through, paying special attention to the pelvis and genitals. 

Harry, feeling already hot and aroused under the heavy, greedy gaze of the two coals of eyes, that gleamed at him out of the darkness, gracefully lowered himself on the bed and pushed his legs up as well, propping himself up on one of his elbows. He could feel the air vibrate around him slightly - Tom's magic broke free and was practically pawing him, demonstrating just what exactly the man was thinking about. 

Smiling seductively Harry stroked his hip and thigh, massaged his buttock and sighed longingly, lowering his eyelashes, "Sleeping with you is so much better than all alone on the huge, empty bed of mine," he mumbled whimsically and sucked on one of his fingers, salivating it as much as he could, and pressed it against his anus.

Inhaling sharply he leaned forward, barely balancing on the edge of his seat, watching in astonishment and insane delight how Harry hissed and moaned when his finger pushed at the entrance and slipped deep inside it. The boy changed his position, kneeling with his back turned to him and bent down, spreading his thighs widely. 

"It feels so good, Tom," Harry sighed, moving his finger hastily back and forth and gasping at the amazing, slightly burning sensation in his anus. His other hand moved to stroke his penis and he groaned louder, swaying his hips slightly, knowing very well how hard Tom must have been this very second. He himself was ready to come now by the mere thought that he was masturbating in front of his lover. 

His hand was torn away from his entrance abruptly and another finger, longer and thicker than his own, pushed inside it violently, making him cry in pain and excitement. 

"I believe you have convinced me, my dear," Voldemort murmured and bent down to kiss one of the buttocks, adding another finger inside the tight, hot arse and squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure at the sound of another lustful cry. "You would not be able to leave this bed until I am done with you." 

Harry hadn't noticed when and how but he was suddenly lying on his back with his legs spread apart and Tom was rubbing something wet and oily into his skin and anus, panting and hissing his name in the most alluring manner. This was it, he was going to be fucked. Suddenly frightened he strained the ring of muscles around the finger, that coated his inside with the ointment, and got kissed on the lips very softly, soothingly.

"Don't fear," Voldemort breathed into the lovely mouth, "You would enjoy it. Remember I have taught you: the line between pain and pleasure is horribly thin." And before Harry could reply he pushed the head of his cock inside and gently moved forward, letting the boy clutch on his hair and cry into his kisses. 

"Fuck, it hurts!" Harry wailed, gasping at the sensation of being suddenly filled, stretched, and very, very hot. He wanted to cry, but his mouth was occupied with the other's tongue and he barely had the strength to breathe, trembling at the most unusual sensation of the thick, hard flesh pushing and rubbing inside of him, at the maddening beating of his heart.

The boy was so small, so narrow and warm, Voldemort could only moan indecently, rolling his eyes back and biting into Harry's mouth, sweating as he pushed and pushed, trying to get further, deeper, to feel more of the wonderful heat and wetness, that surrounded his cock so tightly. "Fucking amazing, Harry, this is so fucking good..." he pushed the boy's legs up, spreading them apart and against the mattress, to press harder on him, to change the angle of penetration, and intensified his pace. "I want you, I want you so much..."

Harry couldn't answer, he could only moan and scratch Tom's back and shoulders, panting under his weight, for his chest was constricted in an uncomfortable position, but the friction became absolutely perfect, the thick cock filled him just the right way, transforming the burning ache into a head turning pleasure, every push seemed to break something inside of him and let some foreign, unknown magic out, every push made his gut flutter so delightfully, tickling on his nerves, and his own penis, squeezed between their abdomens so very tightly, finally burst with the hot sperm and he called out Tom's name hoarsely, biting into the strong shoulder and weeping like a wounded animal at the storm of unimaginable pleasure that threatened to blow him up.

"Yes, yes, just a little more," Voldemort panted, gasping and groaning into Harry's ear, as he moved hastily back and forth, coming undone at the sensation of the boy's semen coating his skin, "Harry, Harry... I..." With a last, pitiful, weak cry he came, pushing harshly into the anus and arching his back in a particularly violent sob, that escaped his lips just in time with his sperm pouring generously out of his slit and filling Harry well. "Ah, ah!" he jerked, trembling, as his penis pulsed again and again, producing more and more cum and driving him to the edge of sanity. 

The strong body slumped against his weakly and Harry sniveled miserably into Tom's hair, clutching on it feverishly, passionately. He could still feel his inside convulsing slightly and trying to push the cock out of him, and every pulse sent wonderful electric waves up his body, brought delightful numbness into his legs. "Tom, it feels so good," he whispered meekly, listening in to the man's heavy breathing, "I... I loved it so much. I... Never imagined it could be so magical..."

"Neither did I," Voldemort whispered back and rubbed his face against Harry's, kissing it lightly, gently, circling his arms around the boy's helpless body. "And I loved it too... Harry, be mine. Forever. I claim you to be mine for all eternity," he murmured softly, hoarsely, still out of breath. "Your soul and your body belong to me now. I will never let you go..."

"I know," he smiled through happy tears, "I am yours. Forever. I promise." And gasped when the cock was pulled out of him abruptly, leaving him suddenly empty and very, very wet. He felt the sleek semen float out of his anus and exhaled sharply in pleasure. "You are huge. And so thick!" he laughed nervously and grinned at the sound of Tom's mirthful chuckles.

"I never thought I was. It is just your arse is too small, but I prefer it that way," he smiled, rolling onto his back and flexing his stiffened muscles, rubbing the sweat off of his forehead. "Perhaps, I would let you sleep in my bed every night... That is if you behave yourself, of course," he drawled haughtily, laughing at the light hit on his chest, that Harry gave him. 

"You are so mean," Harry shook his head in exasperation and scooted to his side, wincing at the uncomfortable sensation in his stretched inside. "But I prefer you that way."

"I know you do," Voldemort sighed smugly and pulled the boy closer, enjoying his warmth and softness, his presence. 

They lay in silence, listening to each other's breathing and hearts beating, and he kept moving his fingers absentmindedly, barely registering that he was caressing Harry's shoulder and arm. He had never showed tenderness towards another, never stayed after sex, for the notion of listening to the idiotic chatter seemed atrocious to him, and yet, here he was, laughing at the boy's silly blabbering... How much had he changed because of Harry, he never really analyzed the transformation he had gone through, but now that he pondered over it - it was there, so obvious, rather hard to miss. 

He became soft, emotional, humane, malevolence rarely affected his actions now, more often than not it was Harry who affected him the most: it was the oddest realization that he had come to, that in the past few years he had been contemplating everything from the boy's point of view. He considered everything, evaluated his plans by asking himself if Harry would have approved of it, if Harry would have told him that it was an evil and a horrible thing to do... But he still kept killing those who stood in his way, he still eliminated the problems the easiest and the most efficient way that he knew, he still hated muggles and fought the Order... But something inside of him had changed, dramatically. Once again he wondered if the closeness of his horcrux was the cause of that astonishing, deep sensation that he couldn't for the life of him understand. Indecipherable and yet it was very much tangible. 

"Tom." He heard Harry call him softly and turned to look at him, creasing his brow warily. Had he left his mind unoccluded for the boy to read his musings? "Promise you would never leave me," the boy whispered into his chest hesitantly, incomprehensibly. 

"Whatever has given you the idea that I could abandon you?" Voldemort inquired impassively, befuddled by the question.

"One day you might tire of me, get fed up with teaching and caring for me. I do sometimes fear that you might not return, when I don't see you for the whole day, only hear you come and go, work in your study... This week that we have spent apart, even though we were just a few steps away from each other, was the worst in my life. I feel rather childish and weak, undignified by admitting that I am absolutely useless and insecure without you by my side, but it is the ugly truth. I think I will get lost without you, I will wither away like a flower in winter, a flower that blooms only when the sun shines on it, warming it with its magical heat. I feel safest when we are close, I feel warmest when we are together, like we are now, pressed against each other... I think I love you, Tom. I think I would simply die of a broken heart if you ever leave me," Harry murmured, as a lonely tear ran down his cheek and fell onto the wizard's chest. He could hear the softest splash of it against the skin, so deafeningly quiet it was in the bedroom, it seemed that Tom stopped breathing altogether. 

"Love?" Voldemort scowled, suddenly agitated and lost, perplexed by his own ignorance of the feeling and everything it entailed.

"Yes," Harry pressed his face against him, hating how sensitive he was, that he kept crying all the time. "I have been thinking about it for some time now, it is rather hard to say that I might be mistaken, since there is nobody else for me to love. I don't know anybody, I do not wish to know anybody. I love you, that is all I know."

"What does it feel like?" He never intended to ask something like that, he never wanted to know, it was useless to him, but it slipped his tongue...

"Like being fucked. Very painful and very pleasant at the same time... It is the most contradicting emotion I have ever experienced. It makes me hate you horribly, for you simply being you, for being so beautiful and unreachable. Yet it makes me adore you for being you, for being the mean and the unfair bastard. It makes me wish to destroy whatever stands in my way, whatever obstacle there is that keeps me away from you, it makes me angry and violent, impatient, but simultaneously I feel I am ready to wait for as long as it takes to be with you, to fall into your arms, I feel kindest, most generous and lightest, when I simply think of you. It feels like... As if my magic changes inside of me, though the word change is hardly the right one... It burns inside of me, inspires me for something I would have never done... I don't know, it is so complex I doubt I would be able to describe it properly."

So this was love then, that strange sensation that he had been trying to distinguish for so long, the cause of his strange change. Love, that he thought he would never know... How ridiculous.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI. Between the light and the dark

"Potter!" Harry jerked at a loud bark behind his back and turned on his heels sharply only to stare into the enraged, deathly pale face of his newly acquired Head of the House. "I knew it! I knew you are a fraud and a dark wizard! Don't even try to fool me with your mannerisms and smiles, I will be watching your every step. Should I notice at least one-"

"Alright," Harry interrupted him and snorted at the sight of the affronted, slightly perplexed expression on professor Snape's face. "If I am free to stop pretending now by your kind permission, then I will interrupt this stream of, undoubtedly, important information and simply bid you good night, sir. Little ones promised to show me around and explain everything about the timetable and the dorms, so there is really no need to hold your usual speech or whatever you do at the beginning of the year." He shrugged his shoulders carelessly and walked away, down the corridor and joined the young slytherins, who opened the passage into the common room.

They all were ordinary pupils, four boys and two girls, all third years, all came from old, but rather simple, poor families, they knew nothing of the Dark Lord except for the fact that he was a dangerous psychopath and that it was the safest here at Hogwarts. Harry liked them, they were quiet and modest, but open and welcoming in their attitudes, which was a novice, since everybody else whom he had met yet were too suspicious to him to believe their seemingly good intentions. Magical children were innocent and harmless, at least he preferred to think so. 

He was showed to the dorm of the sixth year, empty and barely lit by the candles, that were burning above one of the beds - his bed, he concluded by the red trunk, that stood by the end of it. He was told the house elves worked here and served them invisibly and he wondered if he could call for Daedalus, if the elf could visit him... There were still so many questions he wished to ask, so many fears he wished to express and get rid of with the creature's help...

But he had no idea how to call for him. "Daedalus?" Harry murmured uncertainly, but there was no answer. "Idiot, what are you expecting?" he growled under his breath and grudgingly bent down to inspect the contents of his trunk. 

Sirius had outdone himself, there were so many different clothes, colourful and obviously expensive, shoes and boots of all the kinds - they made him wrinkle his nose in disdain - books, rolls of parchment, stacks of quills... He came here for a year, but it seemed he was packed to spend his whole life imprisoned in this school. 

"Master Harry?" The soft voice called for him and he turned, smiling involuntarily in relief. There were two familiar huge eyes gleaming at him from the dark corner and the small elf hastily ran towards him and hugged his leg, squirming happily. "Oh, how good it is to see you, my little lord!" 

"I didn't think you could come here," Harry laughed, patting his head and ears, barely holding back the sobs, that threatened to escape his lips. He was all alone, felt scared and permanently under pressure here, surrounded by unfamiliar, strange people, whose motives were still unknown to him. It was so wonderful to see somebody he knew had no wish to harm him but to truly help him.

"Don't worry, master, Daedalus would have never left you alone here!" the elf exclaimed and instantly darted to unpack his belongings. In just a second everything was neatly placed in the wardrobe and the drawers of the chest, and Harry could only blink dumbly at his little servant, who was already undressing him. "Take it off, my lord, you should take a proper shower and change into your nightshirt, pajamas are not appropriate for a young man of your age anymore," Daedalus told him, grimacing at the sight of the plain red, checkered outfit, that he had taken out of the trunk. "You can't possibly wear this!" 

Shaking his head and grinning broadly at the creature's crooning and fretting Harry obediently took everything off and went into the bathroom, anticipating a good, hot shower to help him finally relax and wash away the tension, that kept grating on his nerves. He was excited to be amongst his kind, of course, far away from the ignorant, atrocious muggles, but he still felt out of place, still felt different and unwanted. Still missed his home, wherever it was. Daedalus had brought a shampoo and a special soap for him, their smell made him finally burst into tears for it was the very scent that he knew he loved, the scent he was used to. He frantically rubbed the soap into his skin, desperately wishing it to soak in his very blood and help him remember, help him find his way back. It smelled of lavender and citruses, and cinnamon and Harry pressed his hands to his face, inhaling deeply, trembling in harsh sobs under the hot, hot stream of water. Why, why was there black nothingness in his mind whenever he tried to remember? 

"Now, now, master, don't you cry, old Daedalus won't let anybody hurt you," the elf wrapped him into a huge, soft towel and gently led him to the bed, helped him sit down and habitually, with practiced ease, began drying him up, patting and stroking him lovingly, very much like a parent would. Harry watched him silently, enjoying his presence, his touch, his hushed singing and his kind, adoring glances that Daedalus was stealing from time to time, to check if he was still crying. "Now, let's put a shirt on," he held out the cloth and Harry obediently pulled it on, marveling how amazing it felt against his skin, so silky and light, and unexpectedly warm. "Little lords are entitled to wear only the best clothes, master. Here is your hot cocoa," Daedalus crooned, passing him the cup. 

"I am sixteen, do I still drink cocoa before bed?" Harry huffed, but took a sip anyway, and then another one and another... It tasted heavenly, tasted just like he loved it, and warmed him up on the inside just like he felt he needed it to.

"Of course, you and our master both have a sweet tooth," the elf grinned, clapping his small hands in delight, "You always loved my cocoa, ever since you were a tiny infant! I wish I could change your sheets as well, my little lord, but it is prohibited here, the other elves would find out and would tell the headmaster that you are using a personal servant," he shook his head sadly, frowning at the bed in displeasure. 

"It is quite alright, Daedalus, I will do perfectly well with these ones," Harry tried to placate him, inwardly flattered by the notion that somebody cared for him so much. "May I ask you about something? I am really, really confused about it..." 

"Of course," Daedalus nodded readily and sat down beside him, looking at him expectantly.

"If I am a dark wizard, and was raised by the Dark Lord, and now got sorted into Slytherin... Does it mean I am a bad person? Could you honestly tell me if I have ever committed any kind of a crime?" he peered at the creature, biting on his lower lip in anticipation and nervousness. He knew he was right when he said that the House and the nature of his magic couldn't define him, but it was hard to base this objective notion on what he had no way of remembering. If he had killed or cursed before, then he was also a hypocrite, just like everybody else here.

"No," the elf shook his head vehemently, "No, master, you never did anything wrong, I promise! Our lord prohibited you to use any of the illegal curses without his permission, he thought you to be too young yet! He never let you torture or harm others unless it was self-defense!" 

Harry exhaled sharply, slightly dazed with the huge weight, that had fallen off of his shoulders. He wasn't a murderer, he wasn't a criminal, there was nothing for him to be ashamed of, no reason to let others' harsh words and suspicions affect him. "Wait, what? But... But he is the Dark Lord, why would he... Why would he prohibit me to become like him?" he stared at the elf in befuddlement, once again confused.

"Precisely because our master never wanted you to be like him, my little lord," Daedalus smiled dreamily, affection addressed towards the man clear in his tone. "The dark, harmful curses tend to rotten one's soul, to spoil it, to affect the wizard's personality. Our master wants you to grow up completely and develop yourself as well as you can before giving in to the temptation of the Dark. He wants you to stay yourself, to be the kindhearted and the gentle boy that you are, he would never let you turn into him." There was this odd, unwavering confidence in his voice, as if what he said was the veritable, concrete truth, but Harry could hardly believe it.

"Impossible," he scoffed, "Are we talking about the same person? He is the cause of the slytherin table being empty this year, he made people into criminals, ruined their families' lives... My family too. And you are telling me he is worried for my well-being, doesn't want me to be one of his... What are they called, Death Eaters?" 

"You wouldn't understand until you remembered everything, master Harry," the elf murmured wanly, stroking him soothingly on the arm. "You are a very special wizard to our lord, you were never supposed to be a Death Eater."

"They all will hate me now, won't they?" Harry sighed tiredly, rubbing on his puffy eyes. 

"What does it matter? You are superior to them, my little master," Daedalus told him firmly, "You are the most powerful of them all, let them say whatever they want, they would never be your equals. Stay out of trouble and hold back on your power, master, and be patient. Soon, very soon the Dark Lord will find a way to help you get your memories back. You must be proud to be in the House of Slytherin, it is our master's House after all."

"Voldemort's House?" Harry raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

"The Dark Lord is the last heir of Salazar Slytherin himself and he made you into one as well."

"The heir of Salazar Slytherin? I?" Harry pointed at himself in shock and sharply grabbed on the locket, that lay on the bedside table. "This is why..." he gaped at the trinket in wonder, caressing it in between his fingers. He didn't miss Daedalus' frightened stare addressed to it, but before he could ask him what was the matter, the elf squeezed his hand between his smaller ones, hiding the locket from his own sight.

"Don't open it, master! It is a very, very important and a very dangerous artifact, it belongs to the Dark Lord and it was supposed to be hidden very far from here... I must inform him immediately, forgive me!" And he vanished into the thin air. 

"How does one open it anyway?" Harry huffed, frowning at the slight anxiety that the elf's warning caused him. It felt as if the locket had belonged to him for his whole life, how could it possibly be somebody else's?

xxx

"Black! I knew it!" Voldemort roared, slamming his fist onto the desk harshly, making the wood groan weakly and crack under the strong blow. "He is lucky he died in that cave!"

Daedalus peeked from behind the chest fearfully and tentatively tried, "But what about master Harry? What if he remembers parseltongue and opens it accidentally?"

"My soul wouldn't harm itself, of course," he hissed venomously, pacing the atrociously decorated room, angrily pushing the blond locks out of his face, but they kept falling forward and annoyed him horribly. "But it would, of course, harm somebody else and cause chaos and reveal my secret. It is a miracle Harry had found it and took it with him, otherwise it could have spent ages in the Black's house and only Salazar knows what could have happened then!" He stopped abruptly and dropped himself into the nearest plushy armchair with a heavy, exhausted and enraged sigh. "It all escalates into a horrible catastrophe with the speed of light! Of course we must take it from him and hide it in the vault before it is too late. Drug him with the sleeping potion and steal it while he is asleep, he wouldn't give it to you freely." He rubbed on his forehead angrily, fuming at the sensation of a migraine already growing in his head. He had to keep himself under control, his aura could give his true identity out and then all of his hard work would be for naught. 

"Yes, master," Daedalus bowed solemnly and disappeared. 

Harry was already asleep by the time he came into his dorm and the elf winced apologetically, as he applied a few drops of a potion between the boy's slightly parted lips and waited for ten minutes for it to work. As soon as Harry's breathing deepened and steadied, he carefully reached out and slipped the chain off of the boy's neck. 

Voldemort squeezed his eyes shut in trepidation that the contact with the locket brought him, as he held it in his hand, stroking its edges, knowing every tiniest crack, every scratch that marred its surface. It had been so long since he last touched it, heard his soul calling for him. "Put it into the vault. And don't forget to feed Lockhart when you return," he told the elf, not sparing him another glance, but watching the flame dance in the hearth instead, as he thought about the raven haired boy. 

How could he gain his trust? How could he make Harry open up to him and let him heal his injured mind? The sooner they did it the sooner they could leave Hogwarts and go abroad. It would be earlier than he had previously planned, but with most of his followers arrested or wanted there was nothing for him to do in Britain anymore, he would simply have to move somewhere else and start it all over again. With Harry by his side he didn't mind to go through the routine one more time, with Harry anything seemed possible and achievable, easy. 

He heard Daedalus come back and clatter the dishes, as he went down into the bottomless trunk where the real Gilderoy Lockhart was being kept, chained to the stone wall, depleted of his magic, sustained only for the Polyjuice Potion's sake, for it demanded fresh hair of a living donor. Rolling his eyes wearily at the muffled sounds of the blond idiot's screams, Voldemort took a sip out of his flask, shuddering at the awful taste and at the heavy weight that settled at the bottom of his stomach, making it churn unpleasantly. He had improved the potion, made it last much longer than an hour, since Snape could very well draw obvious conclusions from his suspicious drinking and the smell, that was rather difficult to get rid of - however, it was still unbearably atrocious to take. He already knew Harry's timetable for his first day at school, the boy was paired up with the sixth year gryffindors in all of the subjects, and Voldemort growled angrily to himself, knowing all too well what was Dumbledore plotting, what kind of a game he wanted to play. The old coot hoped to, no doubt, affect Harry while he was ignorant of his past and his powers, hoped to sway him to the light side... Well, professor Lockhart will have to help the poor student to see the truth, won't he? 

xxx

"Here is your timetable, Potter," Snape sneered, throwing the parchment into his face rather rudely and storming out of the Great Hall, leaving Harry to look after him skeptically, as he chewed on his breakfast. 

The paper said, that since he hadn't been attending Hogwarts before, he had to be tested, in order to determine if he could be allowed to continue his education in the fifth year, or if he had to be transferred into the lower year instead. As if on cue all of his lessons were doubled with gryffindors, since he was the only student in his House, he was able to be joined with them every day. He saw McGonagall give the timetables out to her students at the gryffindor table and point at him, while speaking to a few people, who looked like his age. Oh no, he was going to be forced into a friendship, wasn't he?

And just as he had anticipated, a young, gangly looking redheaded boy approached him hesitantly, clearly against his own will. The younger children, who sat by his side, instantly cowered and lowered their eyes at the other's presence, and Harry could only guess what did that mean.

"You're Harry Potter, right?" the boy asked him, reddening horribly, but pretending that he had no interest whatsoever. "I am Ron Weasley. I am a gryffindor and you're going to be paired up with my year, so... I guess you'll have to stick up with me, you know..."

"Very pleased to meet you," Harry stretched his lips in an indulgent smile, bowing his head ever so slightly, "And thank you for your generous offer. I would very much appreciate your help."

"Yeah, right..." Weasley looked up at him uncertainly, as if he had been expecting him to act differently, "Well, we're leaving for the first DADA class, so you should join us, maybe?"

"Alright!" He smiled again and, after the redhead walked away, he winked at his younger housemates encouragingly and confidently strode out of the hall, ignoring everybody's bald staring. 

He wasn't a criminal, he wasn't guilty of anything, just like the children that had been forced into hiding were not guilty of being born to their parents and of being affected by their families' choices. He didn't give a shit to what did they all think of him as long as it wasn't going to distract him from his initial mission: gaining his memories back. 

He easily found the way to the class and had to wait for the gryffindors and hufflepuffs, who were paired up for this lesson, to join him. They all watched him carefully, clearly uncertain of how to behave themselves towards him. It seemed they were used to rather violent, rude relationship with the slytherins and were waiting for him to slip, to make a mistake that would allow them to attack. Therefore he decided to keep calm and keep smiling at them warmly, brushing his hair back shyly in that particularly lovely manner of his that he knew would fool them. A few girls had already stolen interested, somewhat intrigued glances in his direction, and Harry kept his eyes lowered modestly, innocently fluttering his eyelashes from time to time.

Just look at him, this little minx, even without his memories he still knows how to seduce people into doing his bidding, Voldemort mused proudly and longingly, as he watched the boy from afar. Harry used his beauty and charm so shamelessly, so easily and naturally, it was hard to imagine that it all was the act of his instincts only, not of his mind. Once again he marveled, relieved, how well his boy had learned from him, how cunning and perceptive he was to be able to adjust to the situation so quickly. 

"Good morning, everyone!" he cheerfully greeted the students, coming out of his office into the spacious classroom, the walls of which were covered in the countless portraits of the blond wizard. It took all of his self-control to not burn them all down in a bout of disgust, when Daedalus had arranged them for the first time. Poor elf had to protect the atrocious paintings with his own body, trying to convince him that they were necessary for his cover. "And what a splendid morning it is, if it has started with me!" he pressed his hand to his chest, reverencing playfully before the astonished wizards. A few girls sighed lustfully at his antics, and he briefly wondered how could females really be attracted to somebody as imbecilic and shallow as Lockhart. "Now, do sit down, I would feel uncomfortable if you stand in my presence all the time!"

"Is he mental?" Harry heard the Weasley boy whisper to someone, as they slowly spread around and occupied their seats. Harry moved to sit in the back, to be as less visible as possible, but Lockhart's ringing voice stopped him.

"Ah-ah-ah, Mr Potter, you are being tested this week, therefore you sit right here, in front of me!" the man exclaimed, tapping on the desk in the middle of the front row, and Harry could only sigh miserably and shuffle his feet to the appointed place. "Now, now, no sulking, my dear! And you," he addressed a bushy haired girl, who could barely sit still behind that desk, so hard she was bouncing in delight at his closeness to her, "Move to the other seat, I don't want Mr Potter to be tempted to copy your answers to the test!"

"What test?" the girl squeaked, hastily stumbling away and dropping all of her books, as she blindly felt for the chair, afraid to take her eyes off of the magnificent man.

"Why, a test on how well you know the subject, of course!" Voldemort waved his hands impatiently, and the parchments, that the real Lockhart had prepared in advance, flew onto their desks. "I am certain you have noticed that there were several books of mine on your lists this year, thus we will see how well have you read them!"

The male contingent of their group stared in shock at the questions, that they were supposed to give their written answer to, and Harry, judging by their affronted expressions and the females' vigorous delight and fast scribbling, concluded that there must have been something just as sharp and witty as the man's sense of humour. Having had prepared to simply mark all of his answers as 'no' or 'I don't know' he was very surprised to receive a completely different task. 

"How do you like being in Slytherin, Harry?” was written on the parchment, “You must be proud to be sorted into this great House. How do you like Hogwarts in general? I wonder if you regret that you never attended it before? It is a shame you can't remember what you have learned, but do not fear, your magic would help you, it would do everything you ask of it, as long as you welcome your true nature with open arms. Be a good boy and do not trust Dumbledore or any of his little friends, do not trust anybody here, all they want from you is to stay ignorant of your past and for you to desert to their side. Beware of Snape, do not provoke him."

And how was he supposed to react to this? Harry read it over and over again before he finally pressed his hands against his mouth to hold back a gasp of recognition. He knew that handwriting, he understood it now, it was so familiar, every twist, every sharp angle seemed to speak volumes to him, but about what he couldn't guess. Had he known Lockhart before? Was Lockhart connected to the Dark Lord, was he sent here to look after him? What did all this mean? 

"Oh my, Mr Weasley, you wound me! How could you ever assume that my favourite colour is pink? It is most certainly not! It is magenta, of course, well done, Ms Granger! No, no, Mr Thomas, I love lilies, not roses!" Lockhart crooned, as he walked by the desks and collected the parchments. When he came up to Harry, he simply smiled slightly and took his suddenly completely blank paper away from him. "Now, I see that you are all horribly prepared and we will have to start with the basics!" 

"Oh no!" A loud groan boomed in the classroom. "Professor! We have covered all the basics already!" the bushy haired girl cried.

"Oh, but that is a moot point, my dear child," Voldemort smiled brilliantly at the students, though his eyes were glued to Harry's emerald ones that were examining him very closely, suspiciously. "Why would you even need defense, if most Death Eaters had been captured and there is hardly any danger for you now?" 

"But You-Know-Who is still out there!" somebody cried in the back of the room, "They say he is invincible and can turn everybody into his slaves! There would be more Death Eaters soon!" 

"Is there something funny, Mr Potter?" Voldemort asked, when Harry huffed sarcastically to himself, rolling his eyes at the comment. "Would you mind to share?" 

"It is impossible to turn somebody into a slave against their own will," Harry sighed, inwardly berating himself for showing off. "Only the Imperio Curse allows to force another person to do your bidding, yet, said person must be constantly kept under the curse in order to obey the caster, otherwise the effect would wear off rather quickly. It is also can't be put on several people at once, so unless there are those who willingly wish to follow the Dark Lord there will be no more Death Eaters." 

His smile grew broader, crueler, as he came closer to the boy and purred at him, "You seem to be versed very well in the Unforgivables, Mr Potter. What a curious coincidence, that you just had to remember these particular spells… Perhaps, a demonstration? To complete your test in my subject?" Everybody gasped and broke into hushed murmuring, staring at them both fearfully. 

"But isn't it illegal-" 

"Shut your lovely mouth, Ms Granger, or would you like to be on the receiving end of the wand?" Voldemort grinned evilly and beckoned Harry to stand up and come into the clearing, closer to him. "Now, as you all know, Imperio is prohibited because it enslaves the victims and makes them do whatever the caster wishes without even recognizing their actions and hardly remembering the incident afterwards. However, there are some wizards whose power of will is so strong that they are able to fight the curse, to resist it. Are there any volunteers to participate as a victim?" he asked cheerfully, excited, but everybody shook their heads vehemently and all but sank deeper into their seats. "Pity," he shrugged, "I will have to let Mr Potter cast it on me first, then! Well, my dear, do behave yourself discreetly, I am your teacher after all," he batted his eyelashes at the boy seductively. 

Narrowing his eyes Harry considered for a moment if he should do it at all, the man's actions seemed illogical to him, intentional, as if everything he did was for him, for Harry, to see and to enjoy. The blue eyes challenged him with their strange, magnetic glow and a knowing, baiting look and he finally raised his wand, determined to at least get something out of this strange situation. "Imperio!"

He simply gave in, he was absolutely immune to this curse, but had to keep up with the charade for pretense's sake and let his eyes lose their focus, his body lose its calculated posture and waited for the boy to come up with an order, enjoying the feeling of his magic washing over him and chaining him so very temptingly, very much like it used to do when they fucked.

"Bow to me as a slave would," Harry gritted through his teeth, for he suddenly felt that familiar teasing itch underneath his skin again. So very pleasant… Students gasped and leaned closer to see how their professor dutifully fell down onto his knees and prostrated himself at the boy's feet. "Tell me something you would have never told me otherwise, tell me a secret, Professor Lockhart," he looked into the glazed eyes, but saw the tiny sparkles in their depth, as if the man... as if he was mocking him. Was he capable of fighting the curse and simply pretended for his own amusement?

"You are a very beautiful boy, Mr Potter," Voldemort drawled dreamily, barely suppressing a smug smile that tugged on the corners of his lips at the sight of Harry's wonderful blush, "And I would-"

"Finite contetem," he mumbled, not even noticing that he knew the counter-spell, staring at the blond wizard in astonishment, while the man shook his head rather naturally, and looked the class over with a slightly lost smile plastered on his face.

"Well? What did he make me do?" At everybody's nervous laughter and confused smiles he waved his finger at Harry chidingly, "Oh, Mr Potter, you have done something very naughty, how very unfair of you! Now, it is my turn to cast the spell!" And without a warning he pointed his wand at the boy, "Imperio!"

Harry thought he knew this feeling, this wonderful and simultaneously horrifying sensation of floating above the ground and losing any kind of interest to his surroundings. He didn't like that, it was wrong to give in to something that could very well end up being a trap or something even worse. He squeezed his eyes shut and sharply turned away, balling his hands into tight fists. "No!" 

A deafening silence fell over the classroom as everybody watched the raven haired boy resist the Unforgivable Curse. "Oh, Mr Potter, are you one of those few lucky ones? Imperio!" He pushed harder, trembling in excitement and arousal inside - it had always been very hard to duel Harry or curse him, since their magics were tuned so acutely to each other, and during the last two years it all usually ended up in a passionate struggle of their lust, their lascivious imagination. 

Kneel before me, kneel before me, my boy, the voice in his head ordered him, but Harry once again fought the horrible need to obey and strained his muscles and nerves to once again take a step back and cry, "No!" And just as abruptly the curse had been cancelled and he stumbled to the side, sweating and shaking feverishly.

"Let us all congratulate Mr Potter on his unbelievable achievement and talent!" Voldemort applauded, gesturing for others to join him, as he watched Harry with a smug, proud smile on his face. Nobody could force his boy into anything against his will, of that he should not worry anymore. 

The rest of the lesson went by uneventful, Lockhart talked some more about the Unforgivables, recited, as Harry had later found out, a few stories from his own books, that were distantly connected with the subject of the curses and mostly spoke of his own enthralling persona… 

The way to the greenhouses was rather uncomfortable, since everybody deemed it necessary to discuss his 'strange, suspicious abilities' right behind his back, not really caring that he could clearly hear them. One of the girls, he never knew the name, even dared to ask him if he was a poof and if he liked professor Lockhart 'in that way'. Whatever understanding and acceptance he hoped to find amongst wizards he could easily forget about it now, for they hardly differed from muggles. 

Professor Sprout turned out to be a very kindhearted, sympathetic woman and, while everybody else worked on the first assignment, she took Harry on a little excursion of a sort, where she showed him different plants and flowers and asked their names. If he couldn't name them she asked about their qualities and specific characteristics. All in all Harry found he remembered almost everything there was to know about herbology in general, though admitted to the witch that he definitely wasn't used to working with the soil. But he had passed his test to stay with the fifth year.

Lunch turned out to be the most pleasant and ordinary affair, for nobody wished to have him at their table and he was free to sit with the children at his own, empty one, and to enjoy his meal and their happy chatter about the different spells they have learned during the summer. Despite the fact that the news of his miraculous withstanding of the curse had spread around the school like fire, the young slytherins didn't seem to care at all, if anything, they were actually excited about his abilities and watched him in awe. 

Was it indeed true that the nature of one's magic could distance him from others so much? No, if the gryffindors were not so prejudiced about the usage of the curse they would have simply congratulated him just like his housemates had done. Harry noticed the worried glances from the Head Table, but ignored them in favour of sating his own appetite. It wasn't his fault he was different, wasn't his fault he was superior to others.

xxx

Two more days had gone by, Harry passed his test in every subject, by surprising professor McGonagall with a most complex transfiguration of his arm into a wing and her chair into a turtle; by charming the whole classroom to turn upside down at professor Flitwick's lesson; by easily completing his arithmacy assignment much faster than even the Granger girl, who was supposed to be the best in their year... He barely even remembered what lessons had he attended, paying very little heed to the subjects, since all of his time he preferred to spend in the library. Students were wary of him, and he was unenthusiastic to seek their company either. Having had concluded that he was way ahead of his peers and the school's curriculum in general. he decided to immerse himself into much more complex material - to pass the time and to help himself remember as much as he could.

In potions he was once again singled out to sit at the front desk. "I do not trust you with my classroom, Potter," Snape sneered at him, when he dutifully lowered himself before the man. "Now, the instructions are on the board, the ingredients are in the storeroom - you have two hours to brew this potion and identify it in the process."

Since he excelled at everything that he did Harry was constantly surveyed by the others, and now especially clearly could feel the potions master's heavy glare, that all but burned him down to the ground. Shrugging the unpleasant sensation off, he quickly collected the ingredients, already knowing what kind of a potion was it going to be - somehow he remembered it very well, like everything about magic, really. It seemed as if, just like that blasted Lockhart had written, it was working on its own accord, helping him recollect everything he used to know. 

Trusting his body and instincts Harry carelessly took off his robe, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, took off his green tie and used it instead of a bow to hold his long, unruly hair back, to prevent them from falling into his cauldron. The students watched him, mesmerized, as did professor Snape, for all of his gestures and motions were calculated and easy, practiced, graceful and even seemed lazy. He swiftly cut, powdered, chopped and sliced all of the ingredients, habitually angling the knife just the right way, measuring the necessary amount by eye, and humming quietly under his breath, completely ignorant of others' attention. 

"Potter, what are you doing?" Snape hovered over his cauldron, where a perfectly prepared concoction was bubbling softly, as the boy crushed a few yellow beetles and added the crunches into the potion.

"This is a Draught of Living Death, sir, I am simply improving its taste," he shrugged his shoulders and cleaned his hands with a wet cloth. "Insignificant detail."

Staring at him in astonishment Snape looked his desk over, but there were no books, no notes around, in fact, the boy hadn't even brought a bag with him. His neighbours were the last people who could make a right hint and so there was no other option but for Harry Potter to be a bloody genius. "Recite Felix Felicis' recipe for me, then." His memory was coming back in strides, the more magic he used, the more it helped him remember. This wasn't going to end up well, thanks to the imbecile Lockhart the boy had already gotten the taste of a dark curse, it was impossible to predict what would happen in the nearest future.

"Oh," Harry strained his memory, "It is the one that brings luck, isn't it?" At the man's almost imperceptible nod of affirmation he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply only to blurt out all the ingredients and the consistency of their preparation, addition and usage. "I think it takes about six months to be brewed, but with a good luck it is possible to fasten the process," he chuckled at his own joke and pulled on his hair to untie the knot and let it fall down in beautiful waves around his face. 

"Have you ever brewed it yourself?" the potions master inquired, boring a hole in the face that looked so much like Lily's, and the eyes that shone impossibly brightly, unnaturally brightly, vivid and sparkling with the enormous power swirling in the emerald orbs.

"I can't remember for certain, but I think I have," Harry said lightly and took the fire out. Only then did he notice that nobody was working, staring at him instead. "Have I done something wrong?" he turned to look at the man in confusion. 

"Your potion is adequate, but I would not give you any points for it, since you have distracted your classmates. Bottle it up and get out. Everybody else - you are to write an essay on the effects and side-effects and usage of the Draught of Living Death. You are dismissed after you cleaned up." With that Severus hastily left the classroom and in a minute reached the headmaster's office. 

"He had just brewed the Draught of Living Death as if it was some bloody tea!" he burst inside, startling Dumbledore and his guest who, ironically, turned out to be Lockhart himself.

"Who?" the headmaster cleared his throat, picking up his cup, that had fallen out of his hands.

"Potter, of course! Who else?" Severus growled and glared at the blonde hatefully, "What are you doing here? Can't you see I have come here with an important business? Get out!"

Lockhart raised his thin eyebrows impossibly high, taking on an affronted, hurt look and shook his head sadly, "You are impossibly rude, Severus, dear. No wonder you don't have a wife yet - who would have stood such an awful attitude?" 

"How dare you?!" he advanced sharply, enraged by the cheek of the incompetent idiot, but Dumbledore raised his hands placatingly and smiled at him.

"Now, now, no need for violence, Severus. First of all it is for me to decide, who should stay and who should leave, don't you think? Secondly... Gilderoy, my boy, please excuse your colleague's short temper, I do apologize for his rudeness and may we continue our chat next time?" he looked at the young wizard kindly.

"Well, of course, Albus," Lockhart threw his hair back haughtily, "I am a gentleman after all, I understand and sympathize when I am being asked nicely. Call for tea any time!" He stood up and strode towards the exist with a spring of a conqueror in his step, not sparing Severus another glance, and intentionally closed the door behind himself with a loud thud. 

"What is wrong with Harry managing to brew a complex potion from the first try? Lily was very talented in this field after all," Dumbledore addressed the potions master after they were left alone.

"He brewed it by memory, Albus, not even once taking my written instructions into consideration," Severus sighed, holding back his scathing comments and tiredly dropped himself on the visitor's chair. "The more magic he uses, the more he remembers. It wouldn't take long for him to realize who he actually is and who is his master."

"I see," the headmaster furrowed his brow in thought. "I am still rather perplexed by his... By him in general. Amnesia doesn't really change the person who suffers it, on the contrary, it sometimes brings out what used to be hidden to the very surface... In case with Harry I truthfully don't know what to think. He is highly educated, very well mannered, he is intelligent and adjusts very well... He seems to be a genuinely kind, calm person, there is no aggression, no malevolence behind his words or actions."

"Yet he shrugs off Imperio as if it is nothing, a mosquito bite," the potions master added snidely, averting his gaze and scowling at nothing in particular. 

"The biggest mystery is his role in all this..." Dumbledore spread his hands widely and lifted his shoulders helplessly. "Why did Voldemort take him and raised him, like his own, why has he never marked him? Hasn't he called for you yet?"

"No," Severus shook his head, "As far as I know many of those who escaped the arrest are running abroad, where you would be unable to prosecute them, families of the captured Death Eaters are also on the move. Judging from what Narcissa told me in her last letter the Dark Lord had started a grand campaign to take care of them all... Which is rather untypical and unexpected of him," he rubbed on his hollow cheeks and chin thoughtfully. 

"And he or any of his followers haven't inquired after Hogwarts or Harry anymore?" 

"No. I think he is absolutely certain that the boy is capable of saving himself, or he simply doesn't care for him at all, but that nullifies everything we know about Potter's life..." 

"This is all too difficult, we must be missing something important, for Voldemort always has valuable reasons for taking any kind of action. He must care about the boy greatly, otherwise he wouldn't have raised him so well. But for what, though?"

"Perhaps, this is all a part of his plot?" Severus scoffed, "Perhaps, Potter was sent here to execute a diversion from within the school's walls?"

"I have thought about it," Dumbledore rubbed on the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes wearily. "Would you assume that Amnesia is also a part of a plan? I highly doubt that. No, the fact that Harry lost his memory and was captured by Sirius is an accident; and it galls me that Voldemort isn't doing anything about it, it disturbs me greatly, I fear I might underestimate him yet again." 

You always did, you always will, Voldemort thought viciously, as he turned away from the door and walked back to his own office, invisible and unnoticed by others. Ironic, wasn't it, that more than forty years ago he had tried to become a DADA teacher at Hogwarts, his first home, his shelter, and was rejected twice, and now he had gotten the position so easily, could have taught the future wizards and witches the Dark Arts and improve their knowledge and skills, just like he used to dream... He didn't need it all now, he needed Harry and that was it. Hogwarts wasn't his home anymore - Harry was. 

xxx

"I am still not talking to you after you took my locket!" Harry told Daedalus, who once again tried to engage him into a conversation. 

September had passed unimaginably fast, it was already the middle of October, he had barely noticed how the season changed and suddenly it got cold and wet outside, unpleasant. Students still were rather reluctant to socialize with him, ravenclaws and the Granger girl openly hated him for being ahead of them in every subject and not moving a finger in order to exceed at whatever he wished to, however, some more utilitarian females began paying him more and more attention, and more often than not Harry noticed them watching him in the library, quietly discussing him between themselves. What was there to discuss, he wondered, if there was no information about his life whatsoever... 

"Forgive me, master! It was the Dark Lord's orders, I can't disobey him!" the elf whined, letting fat tears run down his wrinkled face.

"Well, in that case, he should have come for it personally, it would have been a good tone to do so, don't you think?" he huffed from behind his book on advanced healing potions. "He doesn't seem to care for me at all, where is he and his promised help? He is just another liar, like all of them here."

Shaking his head disapprovingly Daedalus could only mutter under his long nose, "You two are so alike, I sometimes get truly frightened by your similarity. So childish and stubborn you both are!" 

Harry hummed incomprehensibly in response and pretended to be immersed into the text. He knew he was behaving himself like an idiot, but the discovery that his locket had been stolen from him angered him horribly, he rationally understood that it wasn't Daedalus fault and yet there was nobody else to blame for it. 

"Alright, master, in that case I won't give you the letter that you have received," the elf stomped his foot and pointedly turned to leave, knowing full well that he would be called back.

"What letter? From whom?" Harry instantly perked up and threw the book aside.

"Promise you would forgive me!" Daedalus smiled cunningly, showing him the envelope.

"Yes, yes, I forgive you," Harry hurried to assure him and tore the letter open as soon as it was in his hands. He let out a breath he had been holding, for it was from that obnoxious blonde teacher, who annoyed him awfully during the lessons by constantly baiting and mocking him. "It is only that stupid Lockhart... Where do I know him from? He is so irritating and insufferable."

"Why wouldn't you ask him?" the elf offered carelessly. 

"Oh no, thank you very much, I have enough of his sly looks and stupid, dirty jokes during the lessons, and constant watching during the meals. He is almost obsessed with me!" Harry cried and clicked his tongue, as he smoothed the letter and quickly scanned the lines in that bloody familiar handwriting that he already hated.

Dear Mr Potter,

Visit me after the dinner on Friday. There is an important matter I wish to discuss with you.

G. L.

"He is so full of himself, I can barely stand him," he sneered and crumpled the parchment, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Would you accept his invitation?" Daedalus asked impassively, picking the boy's clothes up and folding them neatly, happy to be back in his favourite routine. 

"What can I do, he is a teacher, I must obey," Harry sighed. Tomorrow was Friday, they had only Potions and the History of Magic and he could have spent the whole evening in the library, but no, the wizard just had to occupy his free time with his wonderful company.

On Friday evening Harry dutifully followed Lockhart out of the Great Hall and entered his office at the welcoming swish of the man's hand.

"It is very pleasant to have you here tonight with me, Harry," Voldemort sighed, relaxing in his chair, and slowly lessened the tension in the aching muscles of his face - he wasn't used to smiling and grimacing so much, he couldn't believe that the real Lockhart did it like he breathed. He himself had been even sweating for the first two weeks, so physically hard it was to copy the man's mimics.

"I didn't know you could call me by the first name, sir," Harry frowned and modestly sat down on the edge of the opposite chair, wishing to deal with the matter as fast as possible and leave.

"I can do whatever I want," he cut him off coldly, speaking lowly and watching him seriously.

Harry widened his eyes at the sudden change in the other's face and attitude - it seemed as if a completely different person was sitting in front of him. Blinking at him in bewilderment he cleared his throat and asked a little bit more politely, "What was it that you wished to discuss with me, sir?" The wizard's aura had changed as well. It was... Completely different, and so familiar, it seemed surreal. Shaking his head, confused, he knitted his eyebrows, watching Lockhart carefully, warily. 

"You, of course, what else do people discuss these days?" Voldemort drawled, gazing at the beautiful face longingly. "I am rather tired of playing this game already... Tell me, Harry, how is your memory doing?"

"How is this any of your business?" he huffed skeptically and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"It is. Everything about you is mine, Harry, you are mine as well," the wizard sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation and exhaustion, and rubbed on his eyes harshly. 

"Who the fuck are you?!" Harry sprang up on his feet and instantly drew his wand and pointed it at the man, who was making him more nervous and anxious with every second. The more he felt his dark, suffocating magic, the more he got aroused, and it disturbed and frightened him, he didn't know how to behave himself. The notion that Lockhart was a dark wizard alone shocked him.

Voldemort rose up as well, circled his desk and came close to the boy, pressing his chest against the tip of the holly wand. "I am your master and mentor. Kneel before me."

"Voldemort?" Harry stared at him in terror, but squeezed his wand tighter, "I am not a slave, nor am I a Death Eater! I do not kneel before anybody!" Was Lockhart the Dark Lord's alter ego? No, impossible, the man seemed too atrocious to be invented even by the mass murdering psychopath. What was it then? A glamour? No, it could be sensed by powerful enough wizards like Dumbledore... Polyjuice? Plausible.

"That's my boy," the wizard purred and smiled that particular, odd smile that Harry thought he knew so well. He expected Voldemort to curse him, to shout at him, to force him into submission, but the man had simply praised him! Harry dropped his hand helplessly to his side.

"I don't understand!" he mumbled weakly.

"You will when your memories return to you," Voldemort said softly and gently pressed onto the boy's shoulder to make him sit down again. "I have waited long enough, but I see your progress is very slow and you are obviously in need of help. My help." 

Harry tried to pull himself together and think rationally, though it was very hard, when he was all alone in the room with the bloody Dark Lord himself, disguised to look like somebody else. "How do you imagine you could help me? How can I trust you? What makes you better then them?"

Nodding his head in agreement with all the questions Voldemort sighed again and propped himself on the edge of his desk, peering at the boy and flexing his fingers ever so slightly in a suppressed desire to take him into his arms and never let him go again. "I understand your worries, Harry, I am very pleased to see that you have learned very well indeed. You make me proud, I want you to know that. I also understand your distrust. I wish I could tell you everything there is to know, however, it is dangerous, for you especially. I can't disclose the whole truth until I am certain you are capable of hiding it well."

"What do you mean?" Harry creased his brow, chewing on the inside of his cheek in agitation. Here he was, having a very civil conversation with the man who killed his family, who brought despair and destruction to the world, who raised him and taught him magic and praised him for being a suspicious and a cunning slytherin that he was. He discreetly pinched himself on the thigh, but no, it wasn't a dream.

"Next time you visit the library I suggest you read up on Occlumency and Legilimency - these subjects are very complex and are not truly legal, the books that contain the necessary information are kept in the Restricted Section. I doubt you would have any problem with getting into the section, since you have already done that," he smirked knowingly, marveling the light blush on the young wizard's cheeks. He was still so young and innocent, his little, precious warlock... "You used to be a Master of both arts, I personally taught you. These mind magics allow you to conceal your memories and thoughts and to read others' minds as well. Your amnesia is a mental block that your magic had constructed in your mind and it is impossible to find out how strong it is, how harmful, if there had been any damage done, if you are still able to hide your thoughts... The only way to know for certain is to let me legilimize you, that is to enter your consciousness." 

"And why would I trust you to get inside my head and actually help me and not destroy me further? I was prophesied to defeat you after all," Harry scoffed, looking away, for the other's intent gaze was too unbearable in its unexpected gentleness. Had they really been friends, as Daedalus told him? How could a cold blooded murderer look at somebody else so warmly and kindly? 

"This is what I wished to discuss with you. The matter of your trust." Voldemort sighed and summoned his chair to move it closer and to sit right in front of the boy, almost brushing their knees against each other. "Harry," he called quietly, "Look at me, I prefer to speak to the person while seeing their eyes."

"What, to instantly intrude on their minds?" Harry chuckled sarcastically, amused by other's impudence.

"No, to see if they are afraid or if they are laughing at me," he answered honestly and smiled at the sight of a pair of brilliant, emerald eyes staring at him in curiosity. "I believe I have nullified the prophecy when I took you in and raised you instead of killing you. I believe I have changed our destinies by making you my family... Harry, listen carefully. There are a few mutual secrets that we share, they are much more harmful to you than to me, that is why I am so worried about you. Should Dumbledore and his followers discover them - you would be eliminated."

Family? Had he just said that he made him his family? "Is that why you are here, at Hogwarts, pretending to be this idiotic Lockhart?"

"Yes," he laughed soundlessly, "You always despised him, as did I. But he was the only way I could get in here unnoticed and stay right under the old coot's nose... I am here because I promised you to never leave you."

His heart skipped its beat at the confession and Harry harshly swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "Why are you so different to me? How can you be two so completely opposite persons at once? The leader of the Dark and the merciless murderer and a kind and caring master and mentor, or whatever you are?"

"You are very special to me, Harry," Voldemort leaned closer to look him in the eyes intently, trying to convey all of his emotions through the words, without giving anything away, "You are a very special boy. Fourteen years of raising you and caring for you hadn't just gone by unnoticed, they have affected me greatly. I found a friend in you, believe it or not." 

"And I simply accepted you, forgave you?" He kept staring back into the eyes that were gradually changing in colour, he could see the scarlet showing through the blue and it sent shivers up and down his spine and electric waves through his nerves. The closeness to the other wizard excited him greatly.

"You said you had nowhere to go, that you didn't want to leave me, that you wanted to stay with me forever. These are your words. I never kept anything from you, I always told you the truth and was sincere in my feelings and thoughts. You knew everything and you accepted me for what and who I am." Mostly because you loved me, he thought sadly, desperately wishing to just break into Harry's mind and destroy whatever there was that prevented the boy from recognizing him and from falling into his arms.

Having nothing better to ask, for he suddenly felt overwhelmed with the idea of him being so blindly loyal to the Dark Lord, Harry blurted out the first thing that came up in his mind, "Why do you keep mocking me all the time? Annoying me and constantly staring at me? And that idiotic joke at the first lesson, when you pretended to be under Imperio?" 

"I always teased you - you used to enjoy it. And I do miss you, Harry, it was rather hard to part with you for so long after fourteen years of seeing you every day," he smiled ruefully and tilted his head to the side, watching him, seeing the uncertainty in his beautiful eyes and the secret hope. No matter how mature and intelligent Harry was, he was still a boy, his boy, a sensitive and a loving person, dependent on the love of another. He was careful, yes, he was cunning, but deep inside of him, perhaps, he hadn't even realized it yet, he hoped it all to be true and wished he could trust him, Voldemort. "Trust your instincts, Harry, they would never lie to you." 

His instincts were screaming at him that he had to run, run and never come back. But his heart... His heart was what held him in his place, frozen, frightened and suddenly helpless and lost. "How did you make me into Salazar Slytherin's heir?" 

"Daedalus and that long tongue of his!" he hissed, clicking his tongue in exasperation. "What else had he told you? It is a dangerous piece of information, one of the secrets I can't tell you yet."

The hiss made him especially nervous and Harry jerked as something seemed to have snapped inside of him. Recognition. He had heard it before millions of times, he had known it better than he knew himself. Rationally, if he analyzed it, it was supposed to frighten him, it was indeed a very harsh, unpleasant sound, but just like the scent of the pillow, just like the smell of the soap, it seemed nice to him, warm, it brought him back home. 

"Did we... Did you really raise me and teach me personally all my life?" he murmured barely audibly, lowering his gaze in insecurity and trepidation that he felt in his gut.

"Yes," the man said simply and cool fingers reached out to push Harry's chin up a little to make him look into Lockhart's face again, the face that looked unhealthy and distorted, terrifying, now that the true identity was showing through. "Harry, Dumbledore would never help you get your memories back, because he knows that should you remember your past - you would run away and hardly anybody would be able to stop you, since I taught you how to do that. Should you remember, you will never let him turn you into his weapon against me. He hopes to fulfill the prophecy, hopes to make you into a murderer, who would make others' dirty job for them. They can't kill me and they expect a child to do that instead. I am warning you to never trust them, none of the wizards and witches here truly care for your well being, they don't see you as Harry."

"And you do? Why did you take me in and raise me then? What was I supposed to become in your hands? A weapon against the Light?" Harry scowled at him, but didn't push the hand away, hypnotized by its imperceptible caress - the tips of the fingers stroked the skin of his face lightly, barely moving at all, but he felt it. It seemed so tender and intimate...

"No, you are not supposed to be a fighter, a Death Eater, a weapon, or an ace in my sleeve. You were raised to be my friend and family, and you are,” Voldemort smiled, and cupped the boy's cheek with his palm, all but moaning in pleasure at the so long desired contact, "You are my friend and family, Harry, you just don't remember it and it breaks my heart."

"Do you have one?" He wanted it to sound acid and hurtful, but it sounded pitiful and childish instead, more like a whine, a desperate pleading.

"I used to think I didn't, but you proved me wrong," Voldemort chuckled, caressing his boy gently, "I have a heart for you, Harry."

"This is too overwhelming," Harry whispered shakily and tentatively pushed the other's hand away, mildly surprised to see disappointment and sadness in the man's almost ruby eyes. "I need time to think and make a decision." The Dark Lord's touch had stirred something deep inside of him, something animalistic and wild, what made his heart beat faster and his chest burn inside in the most delightful manner. 

"Of course," he curled his fingers to safe the warmth he sensed through the boy's skin, and averted his gaze, angry and upset. It was only logical, only right that Harry wanted to take time and analyze his condition thoroughly, but... Oh, but he was an impatient man, he knew this to be his weakness, but he couldn't change himself, not when it came for him to finally be able to hold his boy. "You may come to me whenever you need to, Harry, I am here in your best interests." 

He watched him stand up and run out of the office. It hurt, it hurt horribly to see how afraid and wary, suspicious his lover was of him. This was bloody unfair, the cruelest trick the Fate had ever played on him.

Blindly running through the halls and corridors Harry tried to calm himself down, tried to slow down his maddening pulse. Crazy, the whole situation seemed absolutely crazy, it was a twisted nightmare and he desperately wished to wake up. But he kept running, panting and stopped only when he found himself at the entrance into the slytherin common room. Voldemort was here, in Hogwarts, next to him, watching him every day, personally. Harry stumbled towards his bed and fell onto it awkwardly, as his knees finally gave out. What was he going to do now? He felt torn between trusting the man who had raised him and running and hiding from everybody somewhere far away... 

Only the latter option made him teary all of a sudden, when he imagined that he would be all alone again, forever imprisoned in his own solitude. He pressed his hand against his cheek and let out a shuddering sigh, still sensing other's coolness on his skin. Everything seemed so confusing, so difficult, so precarious. How had Voldemort managed to replace his family for him, how could be so kind and understanding towards a child, who was destined to defeat him, whose parents he murdered without a second thought? 

He was unable to sleep through the night. Impatient to get to the bottom of his troubles Harry disillusioned himself and sneaked through the empty halls into the library and the Restricted Section. It took him some time to find the right tomes, of which the dark wizard had told him, and he carelessly dropped himself onto the cold floor, laying the books out before himself and paging through them, carefully reading and memorizing every word. So he was a master of both Occlumency and Legilimency, and there was a block in his mind, that prevented him from remembering his past. The books said that the block was produced by his magic in order to protect his secrets - oddly enough his whole life turned out to be a secret, his very existence. It said that objects and people from his past could help him recollect some of the memories, but, unfortunately, only another master of Legilimency could destroy the block in his consciousness and heal it. 

Everything the Dark Lord had told him was indeed true. There must have been others who were capable of helping him, surely, if he had mastered the art by the age of sixteen then it wasn't that hard after all, was it? However, a low voice in his head, very much like Voldemort's, asked him if he was truly so careless as to turn to a complete stranger and let them see all of his secrets? Hadn't the wizard told him that the knowledge could be turned into a dangerous weapon against him in somebody else's hands? But Harry was too uncomfortable with the idea of trusting the Dark Lord, the man could have easily plotted all this to simply kill him afterwards... He closed the tomes and rose up tiredly, feeling hollow and resigned. He now had a certainty he was looking for - all it called for was to make a choice of either believing a murderer or a kind headmaster, who wanted him to become a murderer. 

xxx

Time flew quickly. Harry hadn't come to him yet, even though a whole month had passed since they had their private talk. Voldemort ceased his baiting altogether and simply watched the boy and waited. And waited. And kept slowly losing his sanity. He itched to torture and harm somebody, for it was absolutely unbearable to walk the same halls that Harry walked, to share the same space Harry occupied and be unable to touch him, to kiss him, to make love to him... To be so close and yet so far from him. November was already coming to its end and yet the raven haired boy ignored him, avoided him at any cost and barely talked even to Daedalus, who was doing his best to convince his young master to ask for Voldemort's help. That was why he decided to take the initiative into his own hands at one of the lessons.

"Mr Potter, stay behind," he threw over his shoulder when the bell rang and all the students hastily ran out of the classroom, hurrying to get to the pitch to watch the first match of the school year.

"Yes, Professor Lockhart," Harry sighed and stopped right before the door, that closed on its own accord. He knew what did the man want from him and could already feel the sweat run down his spine in agitation and slight fear. He hadn't decided yet. He had been postponing the problem every day, hoping to forget about it altogether, but now it seemed he was going to be forced into solving it.

Watching his rigid back, tensed shoulders and curled fingers Voldemort couldn't help but frown at the sight, for he never imagined that one day Harry would be so uncomfortable in his presence. "Are you going to watch the match, Harry?" he slowly, soundlessly came closer.

"Is that the reason why you asked me to stay, sir? It was my understanding that everybody is going there, it seems to be a bad tone to miss the event," he muttered, stubbornly looking down at his feet. Why was the wizard stretching the subject, couldn't he simply ask and be done with it?

"How do you find quidditch?" Voldemort took another step forward and halted uncertainly, when he found himself at the arm's length distance from the boy. "You used to be crazy about it, you know?"

Harry turned around sharply, surprised by the unexpected fact and startled by other's closeness. "What?"

Smiling, he tilted his head to the side, laughing softly at the memories, "You dreamed of a broom for so long I simply had to give you one when you were nine. I still have your last one with me, the Firebolt... You used to spend your every free minute on that stick up there in the sky. You are very talented."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry breathed out, watching the man in confusion. Telling him such simple facts from his childhood was the last thing he expected from the Dark Lord. He sounded nostalgic... Did he really care for him? 

"I am simply curious, Harry, I thought you would remember it after seeing other students practice... I could give the broom back to you, as a gift from a loving professor, for example," he murmured cunningly, involuntarily leaning closer, pulled by the invisible force that was the boy's very being. 

"I... Don't know. I haven't really thought about it," Harry averted his gaze, feeling shy and flattered all of a sudden.

"You used to find great joy and pleasure in flying, I would have loved to give it back to you, for you are clearly in need of that. Have you thought of something else then? My offer, perhaps?" It was so hard to resist his desires, when they stood so very close to each other and he could hear him breathe.

Creasing his brow Harry looked down and moved to step back, but the other's hand stopped him, holding him gently by the arm. "I have not. How can I possibly trust you?" 

"I miss you, Harry," Voldemort sighed desperately and harshly pulled him into an embrace, circling his arms around the boy's thin form and pressing his nose and lips against the top of his head. "I miss seeing you fly..." 

He wanted to struggle, to tear away and punch the rude bastard in the face, but instead he leaned into the hold and gasped loudly, for the sensation was truly overwhelming, so unusual and magical. This felt like home. These arms, this chest, this heartbeat and this scent - they all were known to him, they all felt warm and heartbreaking. Tears welled up in his eyes and he sniveled pitifully, grabbing on the slippery, shiny blue robes. "Why... how is this..."

"We are a family, Harry, we have been for your whole life - it can't be erased by any magic, your heart can't be fooled by the tricks of the mind… I have failed you, I admit, I should have been more strict with you, should have chained you that day, I suppose, to never let you go out and get captured. I have lost my focus in the light of your... Fast maturing and laudable progress in wielding magic and dueling. I should have known better. Although, it was your fault just as much as it was mine. I have told you that you were not ready to fight, but you disobeyed me... And look where has it led us..." he whispered into the raven hair, inhaling deeply, feeling his head spin from the scent that he had grown to adore. He stroked the thin, but broad, strong back, that shook slightly, and smiled ruefully at the muffled sobs, that escaped the boy's lips.

Harry never thought he was so lonely until he was taken into the other's arms and was held so lovingly, so tightly - it felt the safest and most delightful place he had ever remembered being to. "Forgive me," he mumbled, barely registering what he said, and pressed his face against the man's shoulder, finally feeling the comfort and closure that he had been searching for all this time. Could these sensations, could the maddening flutter of his heart be his proof, be the argument enough to trust Voldemort? 

He stroked the long, unruly waves of hair tenderly, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. "Don't ask for forgiveness for something you cannot remember yet, it is rather pointless. I simply wish to heal you, Harry, I hate to see you suffer."

"Are you really Voldemort? You don't sound like the Dark Lord, like the ruthless murderer," Harry whined, melting at the kindest, gentlest words he remembered hearing. He thought nobody cared for him, thought he was lost, but now it seemed like he was finally found.

"When you were ten you asked me the very same question, you couldn't believe it as well. I brought you to the Death Eaters' meeting then and killed two people right in front of you. You were frightened, of course, disgusted, certainly, but you accepted me anyway... It may sound odd, harsh, but it is the truth. I don't lie to you."

It sounded just as crazy as it sounded sincere and right. What else could have the Dark Lord done, really? Of course he showed the child death and sufferings... Laughing hysterically Harry pulled away and rubbed on his tear-stained face furiously, "I am almost an adult now, and now that I am trying to reevaluate my life and my choices I can't help but doubt if they were right."

"You must be greatly confused," Voldemort murmured impassively, staring at his now empty hands frozen in the air. "I feel responsible for your torment and it tortures me worse than Cruciatus." 

"Why won't you torture me then? Let it all out?" he offered angrily, though he hardly saw any reason for being mean and acid now, of all times, when he found somebody who really knew him. He looked up into the blue eyes and saw them turn cold and hard abruptly, there was pain behind them and it made him feel very uncomfortable, ashamed of himself.

"I never tortured you, Harry, and I never would unless you ask me to, unless you are old enough to survive the pain and learn to overcome it. I never found any joy or satisfaction in hurting you, and I never will." How could he even suggest it? How could he have thought so lowly, so terribly of him? Voldemort turned away to hide the rage, that he was certain was distorting his face now. 

Genuinely surprised and secretly pleased by the notion Harry let out a breath of relief. Who would have thought that the Dark Lord could be so kind and attentive towards his feelings? "I wish I remembered that." 

"I wish that too," he turned around, having had schooled his face into an uncaring, bored expression. "I also wish you could make a decision now. If we are to start the Legilimency sessions, we must hurry, for I am incapable of predicting how long would it take to restore your memory."

Harry bit on his lower lip in thoughtfulness, as he weighted his chances. "You said you can't disclose my secrets to me unless you know I can hide them, but... Aren't you afraid that your cover might be blown, if somebody tries to legilimize me now?"

"No, our secrets are much more important. If they discover me - I would simply find another way of protecting you. However, to spare us all the trouble you could simply agree already. If your shields are just as strong as they used to be I will give you an Unbreakable Vow, should you wish so," Voldemort lifted his shoulders up irritably. He simply wanted to hold Harry and kiss him, was it too much to ask? He had gotten used to their love and closeness so quickly he felt half-dead being deprived of it all now. 

"You play Lockhart so well, so naturally, managed to fool even Dumbledore... How do I know all this," he gestured between the two of them, "Wasn't an act as well?"

"You don't. You simply have to jump into the fire to find out if it burns or not." Harry was very careful, but very innocent and naive at the same time. However, he really didn't want to push and force his boy into anything, the more willingly he agreed, the faster and the easier they were going to solve their problem. "Faint heart never won fair lady, as they say..."

What if he came to Dumbledore with this matter, what would the headmaster tell him? The old wizard kept watching him just as intently as Voldemort, but never talked to him, never sought him out to offer his help. Perhaps, the Dark Lord was right and the headmaster wasn't planning on helping him? Otherwise he would have surely at least spoken to him during these three months... All Harry got was a few polite chit-chats in the Great Hall, during which the old wizard asked after his health and comfort, and nothing else.

"If you are considering your options with Dumbledore, I would like to remind you that he has placed you with muggles for a whole month, deprived you of magic, of any medical help, of any explanations whatsoever, of socializing with your kind, and used Dark Magic to hide you from me," Voldemort smiled coldly, walking away to the teacher's desk. "He did everything in his power to cut you off, to confine you to ignorance and solitude - how trustworthy is he then? Don't you think that his actions define him and show his true intentions?" 

"Well, if you still managed to find me - why didn't you simply take me away?" Harry chuckled mirthlessly, though inwardly he had to admit that Voldemort's words were right, he reasoned logically, and Harry himself had come to the very same conclusions.

He laughed at that, loudly and heartedly, having had startled the boy. "Oh, Harry, I know you too well! If I took you forcibly, abducted you, you would have never trusted me, no matter what I offered you... I raised you, my boy, I taught you to always stand your ground and to know your rights. Nobody dares to force you, even I."

Harry swallowed harshly at the words 'my boy' being said so lightly, so easily and affectionately - they sounded nothing like Dumbledore's condescending and grandfatherly ones, that honestly annoyed him. When the Dark Lord called him his boy, Harry felt the delightful fluttering in his abdomen and the heat spreading all over his body. Nobody called him in such a fashion, nobody put so much behind two short, stupid words... 

"You seem rather considerate of my feelings."

"Of course, you are mine after all, I care about you," Voldemort huffed, rolling his eyes. As if it wasn't the most obvious notion in the world? 

A smile stretched his lips despite his best attempts to fight it and Harry lowered his eyes shyly, blushing in embarrassment. He had spent four months simply existing, like an empty shelf waiting to be filled with books, he waited to remember, yet felt hollow inside, incomplete. How long was he going to keep it up? Perhaps, he should just jump after all? "Alright," he mumbled hesitantly. "Try my shields and give me the vow."

"Fucking finally!" he threw his hands up in the air in exasperation and instantly appeared by the boy's side, holding him by the chin and looking him into the brilliant, emerald eyes, he wished to get lost inside so much. "I will be as careful as it is possible. I can't promise that it wouldn't hurt - if there are any damages, it most certainly would."

Before Harry could ask anything, before he could concentrate and pull himself together, he was already sucked inside the blood red orbs, that sparkled like flames of the fire. He felt it, the oily, dark presence in his mind, gently pulling and pushing, he could hear a low, distant noise, as if he stood by a waterfall, however, when the pressure intensified he easily repelled it. "Oomph, I am going to be sick," he sobbed weakly, when suddenly it was finished and he found himself slowly sliding down to the floor, for his numb legs couldn't hold him anymore. But the strong hands caught him and he was carefully picked up and pressed against the warm, strong chest again.

"Your shields are just as impenetrable as ever, Harry, this is great news," Voldemort breathed out in relief. "I couldn't even get to the most recent information. Very, very good, my boy," he stroked him on the back and shoulders and arms, and murmured a spell into his ear.

Moaning, Harry slumped against the man completely, suddenly light and dizzy, but the sickness was gone as well as was the heaviness in his head. "But how are you going to heal me then?" he muttered drunkly.

"You will have to let me in. Don't be frightened by the sensations you are experiencing - you suffered a trauma after all, and Legilimency and Occlumency take a lot of physical strain. The more we will try the easier it would come to you." He reluctantly moved away, holding the boy by the shoulder in case he didn't feel steady yet, and stretched out his free hand. "After I give you the vow, I believe you would find it in your heart and soul to open your mind to me."

"Don't we need a third person to witness and seal it?" Harry mumbled, frowning as he tried to pull himself together yet again. 

"We don't need anybody," Voldemort purred, giving him a small, knowing smile, "You would understand soon." The boy considered him for a moment, obviously still rather wary of him, but took his hand nevertheless and squeezed it lightly. "Do not fear, Harry. I, Lord Riddle and Lord Voldemort, swear on my life and magic that I would never kill or wish any harm to Harry James Potter."

Harry gasped at the burning itch between their palms and suddenly black bindings appeared out of the thin air and wrapped their hands tightly, to the point when it became painful, and gradually dissipated into their skin. "The book said the bindings are usually white or gold..." He glanced at the wizard suspiciously, but received only a haughty smirk in return.

"As I have already said, you are a very special boy, Harry, and we both are very different from others. While I would be healing you, I would be telling you everything along the way, for you to be able to analyze and digest it properly and painlessly." He turned and walked back towards his office, very pleased with the outcome. Harry was his now, completely. All that was left was to help his boy remember and then they would be free and in each other's arms again. 

"But when are we going to do that?" Harry called after him, involuntarily following the man. Now that he felt the binds wear off he suddenly found it so much easier to trust Voldemort, it seemed ridiculous. The power of self-suggestion was indeed great.

"I will give you a detention. Therefore, you will be ought to come here every Tuesday and Saturday to serve it. If anybody asks - you have insulted my fame, called me a fraud and such rubbish, I am sure you can come up with something creative," he tapped his wand on the disciplinary book and filled in the form with Harry's name. "This would help us to avoid any suspicion and have legitimate reason to meet here and spend as much time as I deem necessary." 

Raising his eyebrows in wonder Harry shrugged his shoulders, "Alright. Although it is rather disgraceful to get a detention with Lockhart."

"If you hope that I would apologize - don't even count on that, I like to imagine how much you would suffer because of this," Voldemort chuckled softly, feeling excited and warm, content, like he hadn't felt ever since Harry was taken from him.

"Yes, you are indeed the merciless Dark Lord," Harry gave him a skeptical look over and turned to walk back to the door. "Would you go to the match?" he asked when he was already standing at the threshold.

"Yes, it would be better if I showed up, even though I do have much more interesting and important matters to busy myself with, rather than watch these idiots fly. Nobody does it better than you, and what is the point in torturing myself? But alas," he sighed and waved at the boy dismissively. "Go now, Harry. Do not miss out on the school life while you can have it."

Reddening darkly at the praise and sudden satisfaction that nestled in his heart at the man's words Harry hastily left, blindly finding his way outside of the castle, thinking of the red eyes only. Those red eyes... They held so much inside, so many secrets and so many promises. If only he knew how to read and unravel them all...

xxx

A few days later Harry stood at the pitch, shivering under the slaps of cold wind and wrapping his cloak tighter around himself. The Weasleys – and there were four of them, Ron, twins Fred and George, and a girl Ginny – had kindly agreed to teach him everything about quiddich, since the match has in fact stirred some vague recollections in his mind, just as Voldemort told him it might. 

「Now, these are the brooms that we have here at school, they are not really good, to be honest,」 Ron explained to him in that bossy, patronizing tone that Harry really disliked, but had to patiently bear with. 「But Dumbledore refuses to buy us the best ones, like Firebolt, for example. Why the hell not, I say?」

「Because you are a swine and you would turn this Firebolt…

「…into a chimney cleaner,」 the twins answered, finishing after each other, and both ruffled their brother's ginger hair with an outmost love and naughtiness. 

「Stop it, you two!」 Ron barked at them, reddening like a tomato. 「Snape allowed his slimy slytherins to have the best brooms there are on the market, probably because their daddies put a few spare galleons into his pocket for that,」 he muttered angrily.

「Why are you so jealous of them?」 Harry wondered aloud, walking past the many brooms, that lay at his feet, 「Money is such an overrated thing, and it never helped them in the end, did it?」 

「It's easy to say when you are a Potter,」 Ron scoffed, reddening again under his brothers' and sister's disapproving glares, 「We can't even afford new school uniforms, for Merlin's sake!」

「I can buy them for you if you want me to,」 Harry lifted his shoulders up indifferently, 「But it will never change the fact, that you are a jealous person, and that particular streak of yours would cost you quite a lot of trouble in the future. If I were you, I'd try and learn to subdue my appetites a little. You've got a big family to look after when you graduate, you should be thinking about how you will help them and provide for yourself, rather than looking for how much money there is in my or somebody else's vault.」 

He then held out his hand and one of the brooms, the less used one by the looks of it, sprung up into the air and into his palm. 

「Woah, you remembered?」 George, or was it Fred, exclaimed, ignoring the affronted expression on Ron's face – the redhead was so taken aback by Harry's nonchalant reprimand, that he couldn't find the right words to tell the smart slytherin off and just stood there, gaping like a fish thrown out of the water. 「I swear you definitely used to fly,」 Fred, or was it George, murmured, rubbing his hands together excitedly.

「Should we find out for certain?」 Harry offered, surprisingly excited himself. The broom vibrated in his hand, impatient to get up in the sky, and his legs went slightly numb in anticipation of the familiar strain that was going to follow. His body once again functioned on its own, while his brain simply observed and tried to analyze, tried to remember. He knew he was in for something extraordinary.

Voldemort watched in awe and unimaginable pleasure how Harry mounted the blasted stick and started up like a rocket, immediately gained the speed of light and sharply stopped, soaring very high above the pitch, screaming silently in amazement. Yes, even with an amnesia he still flew perfectly, he was airborn. Sighing longingly to himself the Dark Lord thought back on the days at Riddle Manor, and at that one day when Harry took him flying at night.

They sat on his Firebolt, Harry in the front and Voldemort behind him, embracing him tightly and listening in to the sound of the boy's heartbeat, fast and loud - it sounded like a song to him. 

「When will you teach me to fly without a broom?」 Harry asked him, leaning back into his form and smiling at him with that lecherous grin of his, that made Voldemort hard almost instantly. The stars shone brightly that night and the light of the moon painted the green of the boy's eyes into a shade of blue, and to the Dark Lord those eyes were like an ocean – he would have happily drowned in them.

「It is a complex magic, but it mostly takes physical strain on you. I'd waited a little more if I were you.」

「Oh, you keep telling me that all the time. But I always manage to surpass your low expectations of me, don't I? Come on, Tom,」 Harry whined whimsically, 「You know I can do it, just teach me!」 

「Harry, you are so spoilt,」 he sighed contentedly and kissed him on the neck. 「Fine, it will be a birthday present. I will teach you when you turn sixteen, that's a promise.」 

「I can't wait,」 Harry whispered dreamily and turned back to kiss him on the lips. 

Voldemort had never kissed while flying before, and if he was honest with himself, he truly enjoyed it. The pressure and simultaneously the openness of the air around them made their breathing deeper and slower, therefore their kiss was even more passionate and sensitive than ever.

「You are choking me, you know that?」 Harry mumbled against his lips, never stopping to let go of them. He then lost control of the broom, twisting his whole body back and launching his hands onto Voldemort's neck and shoulders, and they started falling down with a horrible speed, but none of them stopped. The Dark Lord trusted his boy to not let them crush. And they never did. They soared lightly above the ground, just like Harry was now soaring above the ginger heads of his gryffindor classmates, who cheered him excitedly.

And Harry felt ecstatic. He thought he would never feel anything even as nearly satisfying and mind blowing as the freedom of flying – the experience was simply unprecedented, unique and absolutely magical. This was a true miracle and he once again dreamily mused that he was indeed lucky to be born a wizard… Choking on the air that filled his lungs painfully, to their full extent, he rushed down to the ground, not once closing his eyes but staring wildly, madly at the grass that was coming at him fast with every second… He sharply dived and turned around just in time to avoid collapsing into the soil and his heart jumped into his throat, clogging it, forcing tears of pain, fear and excitement to cloud his vision. Salazar, but he missed this so much! And he loved this so bloody much! He remembered.

「Damn it, Potter, you are airborn!」 one of the twins cried, 「You just had to be sorted into slytherin, hadn't you? You would have been the perfect Seeker for our team!」

「What's wrong with me being the Seeker?」 Ginny snapped at him, speaking for the first time.

「Nothing, nothing,」 his brother told her, waving his hands at her placatingly, 「It's just that… You're a girl and our little sister, Gin, you're good at it, sure, but we'd rather you didn't risk it up there, you know.」 

「Oh, please,」 she huffed in exasperation, 「Spare me that rubbish! You just can't accept the fact that I'm better than you are, because I am a girl and your sister!」

「You are very good, Ginny,」 Harry smiled at her, as he stepped down onto the ground and came closer to the teenagers, 「I saw you fly, and I thought it was really great. Don't let them change your mind about your capability.」 

「Mr Perfect, when will you stop gracing us with your endless advices, being the one with a hole in his head?」 Ron sneered at him and angrily took off in the direction of the castle, dragging a few brooms behind himself. 

「Don't mind him,」 Ginny sighed and smiled at Harry gratefully. 「And thanks. It is rather amusing to hear such a kind compliment from a snake, however, you are nothing like the lot of them that used to be here before you.」

「Don't be so hard on them too,」 he smiled some more, 「This prejudice of yours is truly groundless, since they most probably were forced to behave so aggressively towards everybody else.」 

「You know and speak too much for someone with an amnesia, Potter,」 the twins laughed, patting him on both his shoulders. 「Oh, shine the light of your wisdom on us, oh, the Bearer of Truth!」 they bowed before him mockingly and Harry couldn't resist a little laughter of his own. 

Voldemort jealously wished he was the one who provoked these sweet sounds. Oh, how horrible was the pain in his heart now, when he saw how easily and gracefully Harry communicated with others, while his lover was still a supposed enemy to him. Jealousy, it burned in his chest, he felt hot and he felt offended, hurt, he felt… Like crying. If somebody took a look at 『Lockhart' now, they would have been very surprised to see that the usually bright and happy, smiling wizard was clawing on his own face, marred with a beastly expression of blood thirst and wrath. Lockhart looked ugly, repulsive and his eyes burned with dark red. Voldemort couldn't stand it anymore. He needed Harry to remember.

「Please, Harry, I'm begging you…」 he growled lowly, looking at his own hands, on his own blood under his long fingernails and not seeing any of it, but seeing the beautiful face of his beloved instead.

 

xxx 

Lavender Brown. She had been paying him quite a lot of attention and he had even remembered her name because of that. More than once Harry noticed her coming up to him only to halt uncertainly and run away eventually, without saying a word. She was clearly too shy to speak up, yet her curiosity seemed to be stronger than her common sense. 

One day the girl sat down next to him in the library and, twirling her long curls between her fingers playfully, smiled at him, "Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Lavender," he solemnly replied, watching the others out of the corner of his eye. Everybody present were staring at them, especially gryffindors. 

"You know my name? Oh, how lovely!" she giggled, blushing, and batted her eyelashes at him. "I thought you weren't familiar with our year, I mean... You're always alone and don't even talk to us, you know."

"I am a slytherin, Lavender, I don't feel like I am truly welcome in your midst. It is quite alright, I am used to solitude." Harry put his book aside and turned a little to look at her more closely. She was rather handsome in his opinion, pleasant to converse with - her gaze wasn't guarded and careful, or openly distrustful.

"Oh, don't mind these idiots! There used to be a real rival between us and your year, because of certain people and their aggressive attitude... But now they're gone and I don't see why can't you become our friend!" Lavender smiled brightly and inched closer to him, with a mischievous gleam in her brown eyes. "I've heard you got a detention with Lockhart! What did you do?!"

"I've told him that he is a fraud and a poof," Harry shrugged carelessly. 

They had already had their first two sessions, but the results were miserable, for he still couldn't open up to Voldemort. He simply couldn't make his shields fall down. The Dark Lord didn't touch him anymore, but was rather upset by their failure and the last Harry saw of him - the man was buried under a mountain of some ancient scrolls and books, that looked like they were going to turn into ash at a mere touch... However, even though their struggle had been fruitless yet, Harry felt so much better, now that he had somebody to visit, now that he saw that somebody was working very hard to help him. He could see how much Voldemort was worried for him, and the notion made him squirm in delight. He offered his help, of course, but the wizard refused - it was enough that Lockhart had suddenly turned into a bookworm, if somebody saw that both him and Harry were searching the library it would certainly draw unwanted suspicions.

"So what do you do in detentions?" She looked like she was going to die of curiosity.

"I write answers to the letters from his fans, sign his photographs and read poems, that are being sent to him, out loud," Harry feigned disgust and exhaustion. 

It was Daedalus who actually worked with the fanmail. Voldemort only made a show of opening the envelopes during the meals, so that everybody in the Great Hall saw him read them and giggle, and he also kept a stack on his teaching desk for his students to see the evidence of his work. He, however, never truly read them and most certainly hadn't written any answer himself. The poor elf spent days reading, writing, signing, but the letters only came and came in with the owls, as did the presents and even a few intimate belongings of a few shameless witches. Harry laughed so hard at the sight of the small mountain of colourful lingerie, that Voldemort actually hexed him and he still had a hard time sitting down properly.

"Oh, Merlin!" Lavender pressed her hands to her mouth to cover up her laughter. "I am so sorry for you!"

"What, aren't you enthralled with him like every other girl here?" he asked in disbelief. 

Lavender coughed abruptly, blushing, and lowered her eyes, mumbling incomprehensibly, "Well, I am... I used to be, but then I've discovered how actually selfish and mean he is, and... Well, I think I like somebody else now."

"Oh, who is the lucky guy?" Harry chuckled, watching her humourously.

"Y-you," she whispered, trembling in her seat.

Befuddled, Harry stared at her, "Me? Oh, well, I never saw that coming," he laughed uncomfortably and took her by the hand to assure her that it was alright. "Don't be shy, Lavender. I have to admit I am not used to... Any kind of attention and affection, but I am not going to laugh at you or mock your feelings. It is fine."

"Harry! You are so lovely!" she exclaimed and threw herself at his neck. "I knew it, I knew you were nothing like other slytherins!" 

He could feel her squirm and laugh happily, as she hung on him, however, he was lost completely. He didn't say he liked her back, did he? Or should he have said something less polite for her to understand him? He simply wanted her to know he appreciated her interest, but... Harry wasn't interested in her. He was interested in remembering who was the man he had been having sex with, for he clearly had had experience, but felt very embarrassed to ask Voldemort if he knew who his lover was... 

"Err, thank you, Lavender." 

"Harry, are you staying for the winter holidays?" she asked, as she pulled away, but held him by the hands tightly, as if determined to never let him go.

"I guess I am," he said carefully. 

Sirius had visited him just a few days earlier to tell him that he would have to stay in the castle for Christmas. Not that Harry minded, he didn't feel anything when he thought about celebrations - he simply couldn't remember if he had ever enjoyed them at all. Besides, if he truly used to live with the Dark Lord and Daedalus before, then all of his 『family' was here, at Hogwarts. There was no point in going anywhere else.

"Oh, this is wonderful! I am staying as well! Let's spend some time together then?" Her eyes were alight with excitement and delight, and somehow Harry thought it wasn't gong to be just a friendly talk and a cup of hot cocoa shared between them.

"Alright," he mumbled awkwardly, frantically thinking of a way he could tell the girl off without offending her. It was truly difficult when he had no experience at all.

xxx

The winter holidays had begun, most students had left the school and now they had more time to spend on their Legilimency sessions. The progress was very, very slow, it irritated Voldemort terribly, but he kept himself under control for Harry's sake. The boy was sincere in his wish to gain back his memory, he simply was incapable of unlocking his own magic yet. He was still too young and inexperienced, of course his magic refused his attempts to tame it…

It took the Dark Lord two weeks of research to realize that he had been doing it wrong all along - he had been trying to make Harry remember without actually giving him any clues or hints. Seething at his own incompetence, Voldemort could only wonder helplessly, if he had truly grown so useless or if it was the result of his nervous breakdown that he had suffered after the boy's disappearance. He had to concentrate and do his best to help Harry and take him away when they were done.

He hadn't taken the potion the previous night and now was walking down the halls of Hogwarts, looking his own self, but disillusioned, searching for the boy. It was the easiest answer to their problem, how could he have not seen it before? Harry had to see the only face that he knew well in his past, had to see the man who raised him, his body and instincts would certainly react to Voldemort and help the boy's magic to lessen its block on his mind. And he had to touch him yet again. Reluctant to torment himself so terribly, he had been keeping distance between them during their sessions, for he was afraid he might simply lose his stamina and patience and force Harry into physical closeness that the boy wasn't ready for yet. But if he touched him, just like he had done on the day of the first match, he would surely stir more recognition inside of the young wizard. Choosing between his own comfort and Harry's recovery was ridiculous, he was the Dark Lord after all, he could very well sacrifice something in order to gain what he desired the most.

He stopped abruptly when he heard muffled giggles and moans somewhere on his right, in one of the empty classrooms. It was none of his business if a pair of students was snogging each other senseless, however, it was very much his business when one of the students was Harry, whom he sensed very acutely now, since they were slowly restoring their horcrux link as well. Scowling in anger and already feeling the burning fire of jealousy in his chest Voldemort strode towards the room and tore the door open only to stop at the threshold in astonishment. 

Harry didn't know why, how had it happened, but when Lavender brought him into the empty classroom and kissed him, he suddenly made a decision. Even though he wasn't interested in her, he was still interested in his own sexuality and in sating his hunger, and since masturbating wasn't helping him at all, he realized this was his chance of finally getting rid of the frustration that annoyed him so much. What if he liked sex with a woman? Would that mean he wasn't a poof after all? 

"Do you like me, Lavender?" he breathed out, circling his arms around her waist and pressing her close to his body.

"Yes, very much," the girl mumbled helplessly, trembling in his hold and giggling in confusion at his suddenly completely different attitude. He used to be very shy and modest these past weeks that they had been talking and spending time together, seemed even reluctant to touch her at all, but now there was this dangerous, ravenous gleam in his eyes and his hands turned out to be unexpectedly strong.

"Would you like to help me then? I am in need of help, I have been struggling with a little problem of mine for a very long time..." he murmured heatedly into her ear, as he placed harsh kisses on her neck, sliding his hands down to squeeze her arse through the thin fabric of her skirt. Where had it all come from? Did he really have it in himself? This animalistic lust and sexual aggression? 

"Oh, yes! Harry, I want to help you!" she whined, panting in agitation and nervousness, for she had suddenly guessed what was he asking of her.

"Splendid," he smiled and turned her around sharply and forced her to bent down onto the desk, as he pushed her skirt up and his trousers down and pressed his half hard cock between her buttocks.

She squeaked and laughed again in surprise and fear, but he held her down and kept rubbing against her, moaning indecently and hissing something under his breath, she couldn't understand the words he was saying, they didn't sound like english at all, however, she hadn't had the time to think about it properly. A finger penetrated her anus and she cried in shock from a burning, unpleasant sensation. "What are you doing?"

"I am going to fuck you, isn't this obvious?" Harry growled, thrusting his finger deeper and deeper, aroused so much he could barely wait to push his cock inside her. But when he finally pressed the reddened, pulsing head against her entrance, the door into the classroom opened on its own accord and in a second he was torn away from Lavender with an invisible force.

"You are going to be punished for this, Harry." He heard a harsh, cold hiss and felt a disillusioning charm covering him up, while the girl lost her consciousness, being hit with a very strong 'Obliviate'.

"The fuck are you doing?" Was all he managed to say while the Dark Lord - and it was clearly him, judging by the angry, suffocating aura - flashed through the halls and corridors only to throw him inside the Lockhart's office and seal the doors behind them. 

Shaking in rage Voldemort canceled the charms and hovered over Harry, who sat on the floor with his trousers barely covering his rigidly standing cock and with his beautiful face flushed in arousal and anger. "How dared you?" he hissed inaudibly, curling his harshly trembling fingers, "How dared you to even touch her?"

"What is your problem? I needed this, I can't masturbate anymore, I need to fuck!" Harry spat angrily, staring at the man. He didn't look like Lockhart anymore... In fact, he looked... Very familiar. "I think..." he breathed out, surprised, "I think I remember you..."

"Don't you?" Voldemort sneered acidly, "Perhaps, I should also remind you that you belong to me? That nobody has a right to touch you?" He came closer and grabbed on the boy's face, digging his hard nails deeply into the tender skin. "You are mine, Harry. Mine!"

Gaping into the burning blood red eyes, hearing the deep, rumbling voice and slowly taking in the most beautiful face he had ever seen Harry swallowed harshly and stuttered out, "Why... I don't belong to you, I am not your toy!"

"You are not a toy, you are my lover, you imprudent brat!" he barked and clashed their lips together, biting his way inside the mouth he had been longing to kiss for so long. 

This wasn't real. He wasn't being kissed by the Dark Lord, he wasn't coming from the sheer pleasure that washed over him like a wave of tsunami, turning his head. "What... How is this... Oh, please," he panted into the kiss, readily opening his mouth as wide as he could and thrusting his tongue inside the man, tasting him and ejaculating at the realization that this taste was the very one he loved. He remembered it.

The boy jerked and came, whining into his mouth. Voldemort pulled away, still enraged, but already hard himself, and narrowed his eyes at him, "I could kill you now, Harry, I swear. How dared you to touch somebody else..."

"This is impossible, how can we be lovers?" 

Harry hastily crawled backwards, away from the beast that was ready to tear him apart, and knocked himself hard against the wall. There was nowhere to run. Staring at the magnificent man, who stood on his fours and breathed heavily before him, he felt like he was recognizing him more and more clearly now and it frightened him and turned him on. Voldemort was his lover, Voldemort used to fuck him, and he used to love it… Oh, and he loved it still, Harry just knew it in his heart. He followed the gaze of the ruby eyes and reddened fiercely at the sight of his own sperm splattered on his trousers. How humiliating it was, to come from one kiss...

"You were the one who seduced me two years ago. We have been sleeping together ever since." His lips trembled harshly, as he averted his gaze, taking a deep, calming breath. He had to keep himself under control.

"I? Seduced... You?" This was rather hard to believe. Harry hastily fastened himself up and rose, leaning back against the wall, and watched the wizard stand up as well.

"Why do you think she consented so easily to being practically raped?" It was hard to talk of what he wished to erase from his memory so much. The notion that Harry could betray him so filthily hurt him horribly. He never thought it could be so painful to be cheated on. "You are irresistible, Harry. It is all your magic and lust, you make people do your bidding without Imperio, which, by the way, you have mastered on an astonishing level and used shamelessly on everybody to indulge your caprices. I was the only one who could repel you magic, since it is partly my own, but... I could never resist your sexuality." 

Embarrassed and devastated by the emotions that were once again taking over him Voldemort turned his back to the boy, frantically trying to calm himself down. He wanted to hurt Harry so much, to avenge his own pride, yet he rationally understood that it was the wrong way of handling the situation. The boy didn't have any memories of their shared past, of course he could not know what a horrible thing he had almost done…

"I wasn't going to rape her! I was... I wanted to use her, she desired to help me," Harry blurted out, but there was no prior boldness in his tone - the sinking feeling in his gut deprived him of his courage and cheek, he felt ashamed and dirty. And most of all he felt wrong, guilty of causing the only man, who wanted to help him, great pain. 

"Precisely. Use," he chuckled bitterly and covered his face with his hand, rubbing on his eyes wearily. "I taught you this. Taught you to use everybody in any way you deem necessary to achieve your goals, however, Harry... However, you were and still are mine. You can't fuck anybody else. I took you first and I will be the last and the only one to bring you pleasure."

Swallowing harshly and trembling in sudden excitement and need Harry watched the Dark Lord's back and long, tangled, mellow brown hair and, as his imagination built the more and more voluptuous and lascivious scenes in his mind, he took a careful step forward. "I was only fourteen... How could you do that to me?" In fact, it was the last thing that interested him, he simply wished to hear Voldemort talk more, tell him more. He now knew who was the mysterious man in his erotic dreams... Who was to blame for his constant hunger.

"I have told you multiple times that it was wrong, that you were too young, but... You never listen, you are so stubborn when you want something... I begged you," Voldemort finally turned to look at him and held his breath, when he realized that Harry stood very close to him and the emerald eyes didn't look frightened anymore. They looked interested, curious, still slightly glazed with lust. "You came into my bedroom and made me watch how you fucked yourself with your finger. Do you think you could have resisted such a strong temptation? I could not."

His face flushed and grew hot at the thought that he could do something like that at mere fourteen, but at the same time his cock twitched in need and grew hard again at the notion that he, of all people, could drive Voldemort insane. "Could you forgive me?" Harry took another hesitant step forward and looked straight into the blood red eyes. "I am beginning to recognize you, but, unfortunately, the past is still a mystery to me... Please, forgive me, I simply... couldn't take it anymore. I... am frustrated beyond possible. This whole situation and my condition grate on my nerves and I feel so weak, so useless, so lonely..." It poured out of him even though he never intended to open up to the man. He felt he could trust Voldemort now, truly trust him, now that he saw his real face, saw his eyes and had his taste in his mouth. He used to trust him before - that was what his instincts were telling him now.

Sighing, Voldemort shook his head and, groaning pitifully, pulled Harry into a tight, longing embrace. "You are not alone, I am here with you, my dear, dear boy. I would have never left you, I promised you and I always keep my word," he whispered into his ear, circling his arms around his thin chest, while Harry's arms circled his neck, just like always... "Of course I forgive you. You hurt me, but you didn't mean to, I know, I know... You are incapable of being cruel and heartless, you lack any malevolence..."

Harry nuzzled into the crook of the wizard's neck and closed his eyes, sighing and finally relaxing, truly letting go of all of his troubles for the first time ever since he woke up to a completely unknown life. He needed to hear that. That he wasn't alone. "Why did you raise me like that? I wanted to ask but never did... Why didn't you teach me to kill and torture, hurt others?" he mumbled quietly, swaying ever so slightly in the other's strong, warm, loving hold.

"Because I don't need a Death Eater, I don't need another me by my side... I need a friend and a lover, somebody who isn't tainted by the world and the pain, the filth that reign in it. I never wished to condemn you to the same horrible childhood that I had, nor did I wish to make you into a useless, vain pureblood either. You were born an innocent, kindhearted, friendly person, and I cherished these qualities in you, protected them from being corrupted and rotten. I want you for who you are, Harry. And you are my little warlock, my sweet, sweet boy and simply Harry. Intelligent, naughty, playful, insatiable, lustful, but pure and noble, honest, forgiving, understanding, loving... You are my most precious treasure," Voldemort murmured softly and kissed the lightning bolt scar tenderly.

The words made him cry silently, for he once again was overwhelmed with how actually humane and good the Dark Lord turned out to be, and the kiss sent a sharp, cold shockwave through his body, made him jerk, gasp at the sensation. "What was that?" He stared at the man, rubbing on his forehead in astonishment.

"The greatest secret of ours is hidden in your scar," Voldemort sighed. "I was looking for you tonight to tell you about it, since your recovery is very slow and I thought that if you knew about it, perhaps, you could find a way of reconnecting with it in your mind... But I doubt it is appropriate to discuss the matter now, after..." he trailed off, scowling at his own weakness. How pathetic he must have sounded.

"No, tell me now, please," Harry breathed out, gulping down his own tears, "Please. I want to know everything. Now." He fisted his hands into the wizard's robe and looked at him pleadingly. "Please," he whispered, "Please."

Closing his eyes in resentment and taking a deep breath Voldemort hunched his shoulders as he exhaled slowly and gestured for Harry to sit down. "Take a seat, it takes a lot of... Of everything. I never imagined we will have to hold this conversation ever again. The first time I told you about it was when you were ten, when your Occlumency shields were already rather strong to protect such a precarious information." However, Harry didn't move.

Shaking his head negatively Harry pressed only closer to him, "No, just tell me and hold me, please. I need this." He thought if he sat down he would definitely faint. 

"Fine," he twisted his lips and intentionally squeezed the boy painfully in his grasp. "I am feared and hated because I am invincible. In truth I am immortal. For that I have split my soul into several pieces and hid them in different vessels. They are called horcruxes. The locket of Salazar Slytherin, that you have so fortunately found and brought here, is one of them, it contains a piece of my soul, that was why it called for you and that was why you thought it to be yours..." 

Creasing his brow in concentration Harry listened... It was a shocking discovery. But it explained so much... "I am a horcrux too, aren't I?" 

"Yes," Voldemort peered into his eyes, looking for any sign of fear, repulsion, rejection, "When I came to kill you and your family I decided to spare your life and raise you as my own instead. And I also executed an experiment by making you into a vessel."

"This sounds insane... Is that the real reason why you wish to protect me so much?" It seemed only logical, and it hurt very much. "That I am guarding one of the pieces of your soul?"

"No, it is not. You are not a vessel, Harry, but a person. It is not my soul in you that I value so highly, but your own. If I saw you only as a horcrux, I wouldn't have gone to such lengths in order to bring you back, I would have simply taken you from the muggles and hid you somewhere else. You would have never been found in the first place.」 

"Is it true?" he asked in a small voice, searching the beautiful face, that looked sad and worn out, that he desperately wished to touch and kiss all the worries away from it. "How do I know it is true?"

Voldemort covered his lips with his own instead of answering, sucking on them gently, carefully, tightening his hold around the trembling body. "I never kissed anybody, never wanted anybody but you, Harry," he hissed into the other's mouth when he pulled away for air, "I never cared about another person in my life until you came and turned the whole world upside down. I would have fallen for you even if you never were a horcrux." He thrust his tongue inside again and moaned at the eagerness with which Harry answered.

"I believe you," he whined, when they let go of each other's mouths and panted slightly, brushing their breaths against each other's skin. "I feel my head is spinning, so much information I have discovered, so much I need to think about..."

"It is alright, take as much time as you need," Voldemort kissed him on the nose and the eyelids, cheeks and chin, rubbing their faces together and inhaling the boy's wonderful scent. "I hope you would find it in yourself to accept this as you have done before."

"I am not scared. Nor am I repulsed by this. I simply... I simply never imagined my life was so abnormal," Harry chuckled despite himself, angling his head, enjoying the gentle caress.

"You are very special, I have already told you before. I hate repeating myself..." he drawled and involuntarily reached for the red lips again, possessing them one more time, too weak to resist the temptation of feeling the inside of the hot mouth that could turn him into a brainless, senseless animal and bring him to the highest peak of pleasure. He licked the tears off of the boy's face and licked on the scar, smiling at the sighs that Harry let out with an outmost pleasure.

「Forgive me,」 he finally whispered, when the wizard stopped and simply held him, stroking him and humming under his breath. 「Forgive me for not remembering you, I… I never imagined…」 Harry stammered and finally shut up, for he had no words to describe how hollow he used to be and how complete and happy he felt now… 

「It hurts, but I have been hurt great many times long before you were born, my darling, I will manage.」 Voldemort pushed the young man'd head up to look him in the eyes and smiled sincerely. 「You have grown so much, I never really noticed, probably because I was used to seeing you every day and spending all my time with you… You are almost a man now, my boy.  
I must confess, as much as it was painful to see you almost fuck that girl, it was just as… Seductive. And it made me a little proud of you after all. Because you are magnificent in your hunger, in your lust, in all your physicality… You are so beautiful, Harry, you drive me insane.」

His lips kept stretching wider and wider in a grin of satisfaction, shyness and desire. Harry laughed softly and the man echoed him with a laugh of his own – his rich, velvet voice caressed Harry on the inside, he could almost feel the palpitating of the fingers around his heart and his gut, tickling him playfully and lovingly. 

「I am afraid it is time for you to go,」 Voldemort added reluctantly, as he stroked the boy's pink cheeks and habitually tucked his hair behind his ear. 「It is enough for one day, for both of us. And you might not feel like it yet, but you have to realize what does being a horcrux entail.」 

「I know. You're right,」 Harry agreed, feeling a little bit disappointed, though grateful, that at least one of them had enough sense to not go any further. Voldemort was right, he needed to think about this, to accept it properly, to decide what was he to do next.

「I… I wish you could join me on Christmas day,」 the Dark Lord muttered awkwardly. 「I never really celebrated it before, it was solely your prerogative… But I think it would be useful for you to have it the way you used to have it before, and for me to be by your side… To help you remember…」 Salazar, he was mumbling like a first year pupil, what had gotten into him! Harry turned him into an idiot, blinded by love.

「Alight,」 Harry smiled sheepishly, biting on his lower lip in pleasure and excitement. He didn't know how, but he thought he heard a promise in the undertone of the other's voice. 

「Then I will be waiting for you.」 Voldemort sighed some more and finally let go of him, silently begging the emptiness, that was still between their minds, for Harry to not go, to stay and to be his again. But he knew, he knew he had to wait. If he wanted Harry to come back to him and stay forever, he had to wait. 「Go now.」 

Harry slowly moved to the door, looking back at him over his shoulder. The shadows from the fire in the hearth danced wildly on the pale, beautiful face of his as-it-turned-out-lover and the more he kept studying it, the more he thought was revealed to him, as if he was reading a map, that was showing a layer through the other layer with every new look that he took at it… 

「Good night,」 he said and closed the door behind himself.

「Good night, my boy,」 Voldemort whispered helplessly and took in a long, deep breath. He had never really confessed to Harry before, but now, more than ever, he felt he wanted the boy to know for certain how much he loved him. How much he loved his Harry, his beautiful, magical Harry. 「I love you…」 his voice trembled traitorously. But there was nobody to hear him, of course.


End file.
